Canon Keepers IX: Canons Confounded
by JealousOfTheMoon
Summary: Code Platinum, Pete. Code Platinum.
1. Code Platinum

_Before I launch this thing, a few words of explanation. _

_First, this is very different (I think) from my previous Canon Keepers. Rather than jumping right in with the flogging-per-canon, the beginning has a greater and more lasting whodunnit atmosphere. 'Tis a bit of a risk because it slows the plot down, but I hope you'll see why rushing this along wouldn't work—and I hope a slower plot doesn't mean duller humor. It's also a bit longer than most of my other ones; there will be more than one chapter, probably three or four._

_Secondly, I'm a slightly (at least!) different author than when I wrote the other Canon Keepers. Plus, I wrote this thing through a myriad of conditions, including sickness, boredom, sleeplessness, and self-inflicted "just-sit-down-and-write-this-who-cares-how-good-it-is." Bear with me if it's not exactly like the good ol' days (and, if different, hopefully it's better...)_

_Thirdly, this is dedicated to several very good people on The Lion's Call. I shan't say who yet (and please don't give it away if you know; it would spoil some things), but I shall speak more directly on this in the last chapter._

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**Canon Keepers IX: Canon Confounded** _–by JotM_

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_Chapter the First _

Peter Pevensie woke up when his phone rang at six o'nine in the morning. He picked it up with a "hello, Peter Pevensie"—only it was very early (for him), so it sounded more like _"hlow, peh-er pevnsy." _

The person on the other end spoke brusquely, urgency dripping from every word. "No time to talk, Pete. We're late. Get up."

"Hang on—Ed—What _are_ you going on about? It's—" he twisted himself around in bed to get a look at the clock. He couldn't quite make it out…

"Ten past six," Edmund cut in impatiently. "You know, you really ought to put your clock in a place where you can see it."

Peter ignored the criticism. "'What's going on, Ed?" He fought a yawn before continuing, "'S'not 'Stu season, _remember_? We're only acting as consultants. We don't really need to go in, not 'till nine thir—"

"Pete, I know, but it's an emergency." His brother's tone was dire. "They need us—as _Keepers._"

Peter sat up straight and gripped the phone, all traces of weariness vanishing. "As K-Keepers?" He repeated somewhat stupidly, a half-yawn interrupting the last word before he could catch it and lending a rather dopey edge to his tone. Perhaps every trace had not yet vanished...

"Code Platinum." Edmund said grimly. "Code Platinum."

There was a long, dramatic silence, during which the full force of this pronouncement sank into the older Pevensie's mind. Then—

"Ed, I don't even know what the deuce a Code Platinum _is,"_ Peter blurted.

"I suppose you'll just have to get over here and find out, then," Edmund said. His voice had lost its grimness and now sounded rather... triumphant. Maddening. And oh-so _Edmundish_.

_So much for sleeping in…_ Peter thought glumly. He wanted very badly to throw something, but he settled for running a hand through his hair and huffing into the receiver just a bit. There was nothing else to do, however; his brother resembled granite when it came to giving away information ahead of time. So he conceded: "Alright then, I'll come in straightaway."

When Peter entered the Lewis department at Canon Keepers, Inc. a few moments later, he was greeted by general mayhem. General mayhem, that is, in the form of at least twenty fauns, mice, dwarves, humans, and other assorted creatures (some of whom he was _sure_ he'd never seen in the realm of Narnian canon), all assembled in the midst of Narnian Keepers' shared office space.

The Narnian Keepers' exceedingly _limited_ office space.

At first, all he could make out of the mess was a jumble of tails and paws and hooves and an occasional paper, or pointy object that appeared to be a mouse's rapier. There was an occasional flash of blue over by the bobbing tasseled hats (he assumed these were dwarves). Gradually, however, his eyes adjusted to the motion, and he was able to spot his siblings, one by one.

Susan stood by her desk, conversing with a mouse on the flat surface of the desk. It jumped about scattering papers with its tail and chattering excitedly. Susan appeared to be trying to persuade it that it did not need to challenge the stapler to mortal combat in defense of his Queen (apparently the mouse had had a Severe and Painful Incident several months earlier involving a stapler, a pocket dictionary, and his tail, which rendered all sworn enemies to the peace of all Free Narnians in his wee noble mind). He was dealing out blows with his rapier, jumping back every time it spat out a crumpled staple with quiet consistency.

Edmund, on the other hand, was across the room, standing near several dwarves who looked like they came from maintenance. They were setting up several steel structures, somewhat akin to empty picture frames or mirror, with a lot of bright blue and red and yellow buttons on the tops and a large green one on the left side of each. Ed seemed to be trying to figure out how to work them. The dwarves discreetly cringed every time his finger strayed near a button and said helpful things like, "that's the self-destruct setting, Majesty – for emergencies."

At first he failed to find Lucy entirely, but finally managed to locate her, barely visible in a swarm of fauns. They all seemed to be saying things like "protocol" and "procedure" and "sign here" and waving a lot of papers in and above and below her face and even behind her back (some fauns haven't much good sense, I'm afraid).

Then there were a few strange looking chaps—if one could consider them chaps—whom he suspected came from Funke or Rowling or Lucas or some such place, for every time he caught one of their eyes they looked away hastily and pretended to be busy with something. As soon as they were certain of his not looking, they stopped pretending and looked as though they were enjoying the fray immensely. He suspected they were only up here for a lark.

Comparisons to a certain location hotter than the Calormene desert flitted across his mind, but he knew when it was time for colorful analogies and when it was time for taking charge, and this was definitely a situation that demanded his smooth leadership skills.

"Alright, people," he bellowed. "Quiet down and pay attention!"

The cloud of noise from the mass of chattering (or bickering) people and waving papers continued.

Drastic times called for drastic measures, as they say, so he drew his sword and shouted

"INCOMING! JADIS-WANNABE-LOOKALIKE-SUE WITH ADVANCED CHARNIAN POWERS INVADING LEWIS DEPARTMENT AND BENT ON TOTAL DESTRUCTION AND GENERAL ANNIHILATION! MAYDAY! MAYDAY!"

Perhaps now is a good time to explain that although it was noted that Peter knew _when_ he needed to take charge, he didn't always know _how_. What happened in response to this latest attempt was not so much an eradication of mayhem as a substitution of one sort of mayhem for another—that is, excited chatter for panic. The fauns and human staff all ran for the elevator. Papers flew. All the talking mice drew their swords and began arguing over who would be given the immense honor and pleasure of dueling the threat of such an ancient and notoriously deadly enemy. People from unrelated canon departments who had come to watch the sport (perhaps Code Platinum signified entertainment opportunity?) began asking each other who 'Jadis' was and wasn't this supposed to be 'Narnian' not 'Charnian'? Edmund dove behind his desk in a frantic attempt to recover some important papers one of the mice had knocked off in its swashbucklings before they fell into the dubious-smelling bin (and if, perhaps, he _was_ still a bit jumpy when someone mentioned Jadis and Charnians, he never let on). Lucy looked bewildered, and Susan whirled on Peter and began asking him if he was senseless.

"Peter, this is all your fault, you stupid_—!_" Alright, so she was more _telling_ him he was senseless than asking. Same difference.

"._ SILENCE!"_ he roared. Silence ensued.

"Anyone not directly related to this latest incident may now leave," he said immediately. Two-thirds of those present departed, all looking more disappointed at being about to miss a good show than embarrassed. "That includes people in the Lewis department who have nothing to do with this," he added. Another sixth left. One faun attempted to stammer, "Th—the paperwork!" A dwarf piped in with "er—delicate procedure..." Peter turned the full effect of his Magnificence on them in the form of a raised eyebrow (slightly plucked). Both bowed and slipped hastily away.

"Well," he blinked at the remaining people—Edmund, Lucy, Susan, and himself. "I thought for a Code Platinum there would be a few more people involved!"

"Ha! 'Code Platinum.' You don't even know what a Code Platinum is," Susan responded. _Was_ that a hint of a smirk about her mouth?

Peter opened his mouth to debate this. "True," he was forced to concede. "But what was all the ruckus about? And how come most of the important-paper-waving fauns left as soon as I ordered out everyone _not involved_?"

Lucy sighed. "Ed said the only way we could get you over here was to say something you didn't understand and wanted desperately to find out. He invented 'code platinum' as a sort of lure—" ("Aren't you supposed to be _Just_?" Peter muttered, elbowing his brother lightly in the stomach.) "—and, apparently, it worked." ("Can't blame me for knowing you, brother," Edmund elbowed him back.) "Unfortunately, Edmund – while possessing a keen sense of Peter's general character –" (Edmund smirked at Peter, who was fuming quietly) " – also happens to lack any foresight when it comes to common sense." (It was Peter's to snigger at Edmund's outraged expression.)

"Boys! Stop!" Susan interrupted. Peter and Edmund turned the full force of the Pevensie Charm (Specific Setting: Innocence) on their eldest sister. This setting included Edmund's best Noble Face and Peter's Earnest and Slightly Wounded Eyes. It was highly effective, and Susan hastily looked away before it managed to steal an apology from her, saying only: "continue, Lucy."

"One of the secretaries at the Front Desk has a massive crush on Edmund and sometimes listens to his calls." (Edmund simultaneously preened and looked highly disgruntled. Susan sent him a tremendous glare.) "He, of course, mentions 'Code Platinum' to you and she told everyone else. Nobody really knows what 'Code Platinum' is because it doesn't exist, but nobody wants to look like they're ignorant so they all do what they're paid to do – the fauns bring up mounds of paperwork, the mice come up to combat mortal enemies, the random other-versers come for a laugh, and the dwarves—"

"The dwarves," Edmund interrupted, "actually brought something useful and relevant."

"If not somewhat dangerous," Susan said dryly.

"Pete, the big red button just on the right side of the frame—that's _self-destruct. _For _emergencies._" Edmund's eyes glittered with excitement.

"Emergencies. Pah! The only potential emergency I can see here are my techno-mania-infested brothers trying it out to 'see what happens,' as if Self-Destruct isn't explanatory enough," Susan muttered.

"Hmm. Perhaps _we_ should just push it now, Susan," Lucy interjected, "emergency prevention—a sort of pre-emptive strike."

Edmund looked duly horrified. "This—this is Lewis being recognized as involved in something big and dangerous and important! This as good as a promotion—like, like _Bond_—and you want to _destroy _it?!"

"Fancy that, Susan, as good as a promotion—like _Bond!_" Lucy mocked good-naturedly.

"Minus the extra money and the good-looking men, of course," Susan laughed.

"She means, of course, that there's only _one_ good-looking man present," Edmund jumped in. "Sorry Pete."

Sensing that the conversation was turning to the worst for him, Peter cleared his throat and shuffled several papers about on Lucy's desk. "Much as I'd like to spend all day taking as many low blows to my personage (which, by the way, is practically impervious to your cheap witticisms), I think we ought to get started." He unearthed a pen and pad. Seizing them up, he said shortly: "Susan, debrief."

"Yesterday at six forty-five p.m. an OC character was allowed into the Narnia fandom for a simple oneshot—a girl watching the Pevensies leave on a train for Professor Kirke's house." Peter scribbled as Susan narrated. "Years later, she sees them again at the train station – but that part was reviewed by the Higher Ups; apparently it's not Our Story yet. Anyway, I saw it for what it was: not an outstanding work of literature, but decent and harmless enough. The Higher Ups in their perusal of the last part ( again, I was not allowed to see this) noted that it displayed at least a rudimentary knowledge of canon outside of the movies. In the end, it was let through. Edmund knows best how to tell the next part." She motioned her brother to pick up the story.

"What happened after that, we're not sure," Edmund shrugged. "We suspect literary kidnapping—the plagiarism of another's character. Someone (not the original author; we've verified she was over in Rowling at the time; seems she's got a fascination with railway stations)—but _someone_ nonetheless took the same character and sent in an application for the same character saying she'd gotten a 'rejected' notice when we'd said she could go through. _You_ know how they are down in white collar; customer first and all - rotten policy, that! Especially since the _customer_ is a Suethor," he ground his teeth disparagingly at that. "Of course, they would do nothing but apologize profusely and say they'd do their best. They sent it through the scanner again, and the computer responded that the character was, indeed, approved. See, if they'd just eliminate all of these ridiculously useless 'automatic' things—which they only cling to in the name of being _high-tech_—because _no one_ defends canon like real flesh-and-blood with thinking, discerning minds—"

"Edmund!" Lucy burst in. "Topic!"

"Ah, right, sorry," Edmund blushed a little. Peter was not the only one hiding a snicker behind his hand. He hurried on, "There were several carefully crafted loop-holes – for instance, the girl was waiting for _her_ ride, which never came, leaving the perfect opening for the Pevensies to invite her along." ("As if we'd ever invite anyone to a house that wasn't our own!" Susan said, looking horrified at the idea.)

"Since it's plain as parchment that she's in the canon, you can spare me the other details," Peter cut in (hastily, before Ed could start Susan off with the snarky remark about etiquette he was almost certainly brewing on the tip of his tongue). "Let's get down to the important stuff. If I'm not mistaken, our goal is simple enough: get her out of there."

"Right. She was cleared by the system, but even though that has since been revoked, the system still can't just eject her. Stupid machinery—but it lets us have a bit of fun."

"Level 3 eviction procedures?" Peter asked. Ed nodded in response, and they both grinned and slapped each other's shoulders in excitement.

"Hold up, you two, let's not forget standard procedure just because we're excited over a Level 3," Lucy broke in seriously. "The two of you _will_ remain out of sight of the 'Sue. Your goal is to de-OC-ify the leading canonical characters if necessary – that is, yourselves and us. If our characters do not leave the company of the 'Sue, the whole out-of-sight thing business still applies. Under no circumstances can you be at any time be in the same room as the 'Sue. Do so, and I—well, _Su_ and I will make sure you will be stripped of all Level 3 privileges." Susan nodded firmly in agreement.

"You can't do that!" Ed protested. "Literally, you _can't_. How else will you two handle Level 3 Stu cases?"

"Fine, then," Lucy conceded exasperatedly. "But that leaves me with no choice but the worst of the worst, however, and I _will_ tell Mum," she threatened. Ed and Peter jumped as if someone had pinched them quite hard in the ribs.

"Right, no-can-see-'Sue," Ed said quickly.

"Under no circumstances," Peter agreed, "not even if we think we can destroy her without catching sight of her—"

"—which would, of course, be a stupid assumption that we'd never, _ever_ make since we won't even let ourselves catch _sound_ of her," Edmund broke in, elbowing his brother hard.

"That's no worry," Susan interposed breezily. "Lucy and I will have the 'Sue destroyers. You two take charge of the de-OC-ifyers. Oh, don't protest," she said, shaking her head when Peter opened his mouth. "Can't have you making _stupid assumptions,_ after all."

"His words, not mine," Peter muttered, but he picked up a de-OC-ifyer without any further complaint.

"Activate Canon Portals," Susan said clearly. The four odd-looking machines began to whir, and their empty frames filled with a strange blue light that looked rather like the surface of a pool. "Set to: Narnia." The blue light shifted gradually into a strange, flickering setting that was now a blazing gold, now a crimson red.

Susan and Lucy stepped through first. Edmund was about to go, but Peter grabbed him by the arm to halt him. Dashing back to his desk, the High King flung open the bottom drawer and rifled through it for a moment. He returned to Ed and the portals with—

"'Sue destroyers?" Ed gawked. "Those are executive-issued only! How do you have two of tho--?"

"Let's just say that the friendship between Reepicheep and Gimli proved to be _very_ useful," Peter answered hastily. "Quick, put them in your shirt and let's go. The girls will be wondering where we are."

"Half a tic," Edmund said, bending down to knot a loose lace on his trainer. "There," he straightened, "ready."

They arrived in the woods behind Cair Paravel.

"What took you so long?" Susan demanded. There was a note of suspicion in her voice.

"Oh, nothing," Peter answered nonchalantly, "Eddie just had to tie his laces. Apparently it still takes him a while."

"Apparently so," Edmund muttered. He betrayed nothing of the half-truth immediately.

The moment the girls' backs were turned, however, Peter was dead. Or at least he would have been if looks could kill.

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_Next: In Which The 'Sue Infects & Affects (& Edmund Is Generally Awesome... hey! that's not what I meant to--gerroffmykeyboard, you lump!)  
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	2. Pollyanna the Short

_So... y'all's reviews are pretty much the best thing about this story. Seriously, the feedback had me beaming (no pun intended...okay, yes, that one was intended). I have such amazing readers, especially considering that you've stuck with me even though I -hem- haven't updated in so long. I do deeply appreciate it, and am trying to be better about replying. If you feel neglected, just send me a PM of hollers.  
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_...and now that I've sufficiently buttered you up, here's the chapter._

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_**Canon Keepers IX: Canons Confounded **__–by JotM_

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_Chapter the Second_

"Where are we exactly?" Peter asked, more to distract himself from Edmund's glaring than anything else.

Lucy gave him a look. "How could you possibly have forgotten the woods behind your own castle?"

"I mean," Peter clarified impatiently, "Where in the _story_ are we?"

"Late Golden Age," Susan called back from ahead. "Not sure where exactly. Late enough for you to be—er—wed, which is what we're obviously trying to prevent." Peter experienced a sudden fit of choking. Edmund, sympathetic, stopped glaring and gave him a few well-meaning thumps on the back.

Peter had ceased choking by the time they reached the main entryway. There they halted briefly. "You boys wander around a bit out here," Susan instructed them. "Our sources on the 'Sue seem to suggest she's not athletic, so you should be safe around the training grounds. Look for yourselves there. We'll go over the castle and send for you when it's clear." She patted the Sue blaster in her belt with a grim air and turned towards the castle. "Come on, Lu."

Lucy trotted after Susan while Peter and Edmund headed toward the training grounds. Peter wanted to scuff his heels just a little—like a sulky lad who's been told he can't play a game he very much wants to play. One can hardly blame him for his lowness of mood, for he had just been wakened three hours too early to participate in a more exciting aspect of his job and then quickly been denied that aspect. He wondered why he'd been called in in the first place; Lu and Su seemed well able to handle the entire job. Or perhaps the higher-ups suspected something bigger was afoot...

Edmund's head was bent to the ground. He was frowning. "Something's not right—" He began and stopped. "Shh!" Peter ceased mentally scuffing his heels and froze. "Hear that?"

Peter squinted his eyes up at the sun, miming concentration thusly before shaking his head. "No."

"Someone said _'hiyah!'—_I think it was me—I mean I. Wait! I can hear horses galloping. Three, maybe four, but one is rather light..."

Peter looked around. "_I_ don't hear anything." He continued up the rather steep slope. The training grounds lay just on the other side.

But Edmund had already begun veering off in another direction. "I'm going to go to the stables. Perhaps they've all left, in which case I'd like to know. I'd hate for the 'Sue to return from the woods and catch us all unawares. There are complications when characters in the storyline see themselves unexpectedly—heart attacks and foaming at the mouth and people getting fired* and such."

"Oh, very we—" Peter began, and then stopped. He'd just reached the top of the hill and could see down to the training yard. Ed, having turned off to the right, was going along further down the hill and couldn't see the person—yes, definitely a woman—practicing in the yard.

The 'Sue.

"I think I see myself down there, practicing," he blurted before he could think the thing through. Yes, the 'Sue wouldn't spot him 'till he was well within range, and then he'd blast her before she could so much as sparkle in his direction. Ed would only argue with him about it, and then she'd see them and it would be over. "You're not down there—perhaps you're on the ride. I'm going to go take care of myself—you go on to the stables. Catch you up later."

He waited only for Edmund's grunt and nod of assent before loping quietly down the hill for the stable-yard. _This_ was the job he'd signed up for: the sneaking around with a deadly weapon in his grip and hunting the enemy with stealth and secrecy—especially the part about the deadly weapon. Not to mention the rare chance to take out a long-standing blight to his existence: a Mary Sue.

He made it to the armoury and flattened himself against a wall perpendicular to the one facing the training yard. Peering out cautiously, he spotted the 'Sue—a ridiculous figure intended to be 'hawt' but coming off as disproportionate, performing a series of backflips and high kicks that would work exceedingly well in a gymnastics court but would probably only land her on a spear in an intense battle.

The 'Sue paused in her practice. She appeared to be checking her makeup. He cocked the blaster and raised it level to the 'Sue's head. A shot to the pinky toe would get rid of the 'Sue eventually, but that would take time and he didn't want her to have opportunity for infecting him before she went.

He pulled the trigger.

Click.

Nothing happened.

He pulled it again.

Click.

Nothing.

He pressed the confounded thing repeatedly.

Click. Click. Click. Click. _Click! _

In despair and more than a little frustration, he gripped the weapon as if to try and crush it, shook the device, and swore loudly in frustration.

The 'Sue's head turned.

_Blast!_ He flattened himself against the wall and held his breath.

Nothing happened. Then—

"Cassie?" The lilting melody of a 'Sue's voice rang out. "Cassie, is that you? Did it work, Cassie?"

Cassie? He didn't know of anyone around here named _Cassie, _although it _sounded_ 'Sue-ish enough. And what did she mean, _did it work?_ Perhaps she'd spotted someone else—her maidservant or something. He couldn't hear footsteps coming his way, so undoubtedly she'd gone off in the other direction after someone else. Heart pounding, he peered around the corner to see if the coast was clear.

The 'Sue was standing just 'round the corner, the sparkling beauty of her eyes boring directly into his, so piercing it felt like a ray beaming into his brain.

He didn't have time to scream.

_WHOOF_!

Something pink filled his vision, and he knew he'd been hit. _'You oaf,' _he berated himself. '_She's a _'Sue. _Of course you wouldn't hear any footsteps—their feet barely touch the ground._'

It would be his last rational thought for quite some time, for Peter Pevensie was in _love_, and who wants to be rational when there is such a beautiful creature as a 'Sue 'pon which to fix one's affections? He spun around in a circle and giggled, drinking in the sight of the beauteous creature before him.

It came to him then that he really ought to take up poetry. He never had before, but then he'd never seen beauty like this before. For her, he would be Shakespeare, pouring his heart out in passionate verse. "Ah, my love!" he burst, a besotted sonnet beginning to form in his brain. Didn't they always start that way? He'd never actually read one...

But he never had time to finish composing it. Something smote him from behind—or maybe it was in front, he'd spun a little too fast to know—and his pink-fogged vision began to turn black. He was dimly aware of hitting the ground—he'd never known hitting the ground could be this nice, but then he'd never been _in love_ before—and someone swearing above him. He thought he recognized the voice, but it wasn't _hers_—or maybe it was; he'd never heard her voice before, so how would he know? His hands flopped about before him until they located a pair of shoes. He latched on and murmured, "_luuuurv_..."

Then said shoes jerked sharply and caught him in the temple. He lost consciousness—as much consciousness as a 'Sue-infection allows for in the first place, that is.

Ignorant of their brother's plight, Lucy and Susan had entered castle in the meantime. They explored the guest wing of the Cair first, fingering their blasters anticipatorily as they wandered through the tapestry-decked corridors.

"She'll be in the middle chamber, I expect," Susan whispered. "That's the grandest of the lot."

They reached the door of the aforesaid room and found it locked. Lucy fumbled about a moment and produced a key, largish with a large CK engraved on the front. "Skeleton," she explained with a grin. "Works on any door in almost every canon. There's a few canons that provide complications, but it's guaranteed for ours." Susan gave an appreciative 'ooh-ing' noise. Lucy slid the key into the lock and turned it, but the latch wouldn't give.

"Guaranteed?" Susan raised an eyebrow.

Lucy flushed and tried the lock several more times to no avail. "That's what they _told_ me," she muttered. "I am going to _kill_ management." Susan gave her a look. "Figuratively speaking, that is," the younger sister amended hastily.

"Well, apparently it doesn't work," Susan remarked finally. Lucy threw down the key in despair and tugged fruitlessly at the handle. "Give it up, Lu."

"I'm telling you, Su, it ought to work!" Lucy protested , holding on tightly as Susan tried to drag away by the arm. "It ought to, I say, and not just because management said so. It always has before. The only canons that present problems are—oh, hang it all, I can't remember... some show from the BBC, I think. I didn't think it worth remembering, and—"

Something clattered a ways down the hall. Both girls jumped and froze, Lucy with both hands still on the doorknob, but after a moment there came the sound of someone picking up an object that had been knocked over and then footsteps going away.

"Give it up, Lucy," Susan repeated in a whisper some moments later. "Perhaps she added a chamber near ours. We'll go there next." Before moving on, they quickly checked the other guest rooms, but all were empty.

They made it to the royal chambers without apprehension. Both Ed's and Peter's doors were shut, but Lucy's and Susan's were open, and Lucy couldn't resist casting a swift, longing glance into hers. What she saw made her stop short and gasp.

"Susan, that's _my_ room!" cried she, pointing a disbelieving finger at the room on the other side of the open door.

"Yes, Lucy," Susan sighed, yanking once more on her sister's arm. "We lived here for quite a while, and I should think I could still remember which room is yours."

"No, no!" Lucy drew her arm away and started for the door. "It's all wrong—come, I'll show you!"

Susan followed Lucy into the room. The younger girl darted across to the bed and seized up several of the articles of clothing that lay there. They were clearly made for someone significantly smaller than she. "Can't you see? They're _not mine_!"

"Perhaps the debriefing sheets were wrong," Susan mused, "and we've come in earlier in the timeline."

"Su, I have never seen these before in my life. If this takes place earlier in the timeline, wouldn't there be _something_ recognizable—oh!" She stopped, looked up at the wall opposite her, and then froze as if transfixed.

"Lu?" Susan queried. The girl was now wringing the clothing in a frenzied manner.

"Susan, the tapestry—I—!"

Susan turned to the wall. There, above the fireplace, hung a tapestry of pinkish-red. There was an image of a unicorn with a deep purple horn embroidered in the center, and over the top the following was written in gold, glittering letters: _Queen Lucy the Glad._

Susan turned warily back to her sister. The latter looked as though the proverbial kettle had been left on too long. "Lu?" she queried carefully. "Lu, it's just a tapestry—so she changed a few things—"

"_Just_ a tapestry?" Lucy burst, sounding more disbelieving than angry. "Lucy the Glad! Who am I supposed to be, _Pollyanna?_ Although I suppose I ought to be thankful—judging from these clothes, I ought to have been named Lucy the _Short_." She took in a deep breath and tossed the dress back onto the bed. "Sorry. I—I oughtn't be upset—after all, it's nothing I haven't seen before." But it was, and she wished Edmund were there. He always knew how to make light of a situation without hurting.

"Come on, then, Queen Pollyanna the Short," Susan said, seeming to sense Lucy's need for a jest. The younger queen glared but relaxed. Thus encouraged, Susan continued. "I suppose we ought to see what became of my room. Perhaps there's a pattern—maybe we're all midgets."

An exploration of Susan's room revealed almost nothing changed. Even her clothes were nearly as she remembered them, though there were a few of gaudier hues thrown in the mix. There was also a tapestry added on the wall above her fireplace, similar to the one in Lucy's room. Apparently this 'Sue influence them towards unashamed narcissism. Susan's bore a scrunchedly embroidered bow and horn. Across the top in silver it read: '_Queen Susan the Gental._'

"D'you know something?" Susan queried, squinting at the spelling error and the squiggling stitches disapprovingly. "I've a hunch our little Miss Mary Sue embroidered these herself."

They had left the room and were standing in the corridor outside the girls' rooms, pondering what course of action they ought to take next, when a voice hailed them quite suddenly.

"Your Majesty!"

They both looked around and then down to see a hedgehog bustling their way. She had a tiny pink bow attached to each of her spikes. Several of her head-spikes were bent awkwardly, as though someone had tried to crimp or curl them. Susan and Lucy exchanged glances. There was no longer any question about there being Sueish influence at work here.

"Your Majesty, what are you doing here? Still?" She didn't look to be very happy.

Lucy felt sorry for her—how much time she must have spent in some 'Sueified character's company, having all those bows attached! She stretched out a hand and took the creature's paw kindly. "Calm yourself, my good hedgehog," she answered, a hint of merriness in her tone, "and kindly enlighten us: if not here, where ought we to be?"

The hedgehog snatched her paw back hastily and glared at Lucy suspiciously before turning toward Susan in an obvious act of excluding Lucy and saying, "Queen Susan, aren't you supposed to be hunting with the others?"

"Just leaving," Susan answered quickly, sending Lucy a warning look not to interfere. "No reason to fear; I'll be quite alright. Hurry along with your duties."

"We're—er, the Kings and Queens, that is, they're hunting... ?" Lucy let her voice trail off.

With an impatient huff, the hedgehog-mistress answered: "The White Stag, of course! Where've _you_ been, anyway, Calormene? It's all over Narnia! And now, my _Queen_ tells me I have work to do, and so off I go—by your leave_._" She curtseyed somewhat sarcastically at the both of them and scurried away.

"Well!" Lucy exclaimed when she was out of earshot. "I think that's pretty positive proof that I'm not myself here. She didn't even recognize me!" She looked around down the corridor both ways. "There's no fifth bedroom." A thought came to her: "If that idiot's living with Ed or Pete, I swear I'll..." She couldn't think of anything dreadful enough to be done to the 'Sue, so she settled for letting her voice trail off menacingly.

"I wonder—" Susan said to herself. "Perhaps—" She added softly. "It might be..." mused she. "Only one way of knowing." Then, quite suddenly, "Follow me!" she cried, and darted off without any further explanation. Lucy had no choice but to follow her at a similar pace.

Both were gasping for breath when they arrived at the massive, ornate doors leading into the throne room. The door warden let them pass with little delay other than an odd look in Lucy's direction. Inside, the room was filled with a pinkish glow that made the walls sparkle unnaturally. There was little other change, except the throne at Peter's right hand was exceptionally small and pink.

"Peculiar," remarked the elder. "Usually a 'Sue will bring in a fifth throne, but here are only four—only Edmund's is changed. Perhaps Edmund has lost weight," Susan speculated.

"Perhaps he's a walking skeleton," Lucy rolled her eyes. "Besides, I don't think Eddie would ever sit on a pink throne, even with a 'Sue in canon – unless maybe she was after his heart."

They walked up to the thrones and examined the three that weren't pink. Peter's was the same, as was Susan's, and—

"Susan, this _is_ Edmund's throne," Lucy exclaimed. "See, the scratches he dug when we had to sit through our first councils and all those who had been wronged by the Witch came in. He was so nervous about being remembered as the traitor; do you remember? A 'Sue wouldn't know to remove these details. Ed's throne hasn't been changed; it's been moved into my place."

"Then where do _you_ sit?" Susan frowned. "I mean, the putting of the 'Sue-throne by Pete's is nothing new—and it is clearly a 'Sue-throne," she strode over to the pink throne and looked it over. "It's not even Narnian-made; see? There's a great big _CJTech_ written on the back—but why four thrones and not five? More to the point, _how_? I know 'Sue's aren't renowned for their blossoming intellects, but most of them can manage four-plus-one-equals-five."

"Unless there isn't a one," Lucy said slowly. She appeared to be figuring something out. Her complexion was changing rapidly between purple and white. "That's got to be it. There isn't a fifth throne because there isn't a fifth sovereign."

"Hang on," interjected Susan. "You can't be saying—"

"I can," Lucy's face settled into a nice, scarlet hue. "Lucy the Glad—or Short—or Pollyanna, if you like—whatever her name is—that's _me._" She sounded as though someone had just told her she'd both died and missed her own funeral. "_I'm_ the 'Sue."

* * *

_*Here Edmund may be considered to reference the events of CK 8, in which Peter met his movie-canon self and went a bit nuts, resulting in the (temporary, obviously) loss of his job at CK. The temporary nature of Peter's madness is probably due to the fact that Peter was previously aware of his character's existence in the movie. The effects of characters in the actual story meeting their Canon Keeper counterparts are much more likely to be dramatic and longer-lasting. However, nothing can be said conclusively on the matter as it is intentionally under-explored. _

_

* * *

Next: In Which We Discover Who 'Cassie' is - and a whole lot of other things as well.  
_


	3. Of Sonnets and Stupidheads

_This chapter is a veritable mammoth. School started yesterday, and I suddenly realized I had a ton of ground to cover (without changing the pace of the story) if I wanted to finish this before things get crazy and it gets lost in the melee. Fourteen pages and over six thousand words later, you have this. Things should be fully wrapped up by the end of the next chapter. _

_As for the spot of poetry in here, that's...uh...strictly _not_ mine. Really, do you believe me capable of crafting something so hideous and then afflicting my readers with it? ...okay, okay, I _did_ write it, but I swear I didn't spend more than five minutes on it (or ten). And I do mangle and/or borrow a few sentences directly from _Magician's Nephew _at the very end. Alas, they are not my own, though they be among my favorites. _

_

* * *

_

_**Canon Keepers IX: Canons Confounded **__–by JotM_

_

* * *

_

_Chapter the Third_

Peter groaned, opening his eyes slowly. The world was shaking. "Unnnngh, make it _stop!_" he complained. The shaking stopped briefly and then resumed with twice the severity. He shut his eyes again and moaned.

"Peter," a voice came. It was vaguely familiar, Peter thought. He opened one eye. The voice was attached to a person—tall and dark-haired and vaguely familiar—who was attached to a hand, which was attached to his jacket and shaking him back and forth.

Oh. So _that's_ why the world was shaking.

"Peter, I know you're awake," the voice (which was attached to the person who was attached to the hand which was attached to his coat) said. The shaking increased tenfold for a few seconds, and then abruptly stopped. Instead, the hand seized the back of his collar and attempted to drag him into a sitting position—_attempted_ being the operative word, of course. Once up, Peter merely whined an incoherent protest and flopped back down again.

"Aw, come on, Peter!" the voice came again, sounding slightly angry now. Then, "For Pete's sake, Pete—that is, no pun—that is—oh, _bother!_" Only he said something a little bit worse than _bother._

If Peter had been himself, he would have realized the moment he opened his eyes and found his world shaking back and forth that someone was shaking him, and that the someone most likely to shake him would be Edmund, and even if he wasn't this spry with his deductions he would certainly have known Edmund by his voice and face. Unfortunately, his brains were still incredibly addled by the 'Sue, and all his addled brainpower was focused on the 'Sue. It was a miracle he connected the hand shaking him to the shaking world at all. Nevertheless, it _was_ Edmund doing the shaking and dragging and pleading and—well, now the mild swearing, apparently.

"Would you," it sounded as though the words were coming from between clenched teeth, "kindly sit up and tell me what happened."

"No," Peter replied petulantly, sticking his lower lip out and snuggling closer to the nice, soft grass. No sooner had he done so than he shot up into a sitting position and seized the lapels of his brother's jacket. Since Edmund had been kneeling over him, this caused him to sway dangerously and shout. "Peter, what in the name of Narnia's good soil are you _doing?_"

"She left," Peter spoke in tones of highest desperation and pleading. Also, there was a good deal of foppery involved. "She left me. I loved her and she just...walked away." His chin fell to his chest in a great show of sorrow.

For a moment, it didn't appear that Edmund could say anything. Finally, with a burst of intelligence, he intoned. "Um." He firmly displaced Peter's hands from his jacket. "Who, exactly?"

"Cassie. I think." Peter cocked his head to one side, frowning. "No, maybe that was the other one—but I only saw one. Actually—I don't know her name. But I love her, love her 'till death should sep'rate us—_and_ beyond! Is that clear?" He grabbed Ed's coat again and brought them nose-to-nose. "I _LOVE_ her, y'hear? _And_," his face darkened menacingly. Edmund thought a death threat was in order, but Peter's expression brightened again in an instant. "I wrote her a poem," he added cheerfully.

A funny look came over Ed's face. "You...wrote her a poem?" Suddenly he appeared to understand. "Peter, really—"

"Y'wanna hear?" Peter beamed, bouncing on the seat of his pants. "It's a dashed good poem, if I do say so myself."

Once again, Edmund appeared to have nothing better to say than, "Um." He appeared to be trying not to laugh. "Sure, Peter, but don't you think this is going a bit far?"

Peter bounced a little too hard and winced. He stopped bouncing. "Too far? _HA!_ No distance is too far, for my love conquers _all_ distances. Now, shut up and listen to the poem." He ran his fingers through his own golden locks and straightened his shirt. After an impressive throat-clearing, he began.

_O spritely maiden, perilous fair_

_With length of limb and length of hair_

With fearsome skill and piercing stare

_Thine heart hast mine forever_

"Er, that's quite—" Edmund began, but his brother wasn't finished.

_O! Thou whose presence soothes all woe, _

_Whose love my spirit longs to know—_

_Thy presence from me chose to go. _

_Will we meet again, or never?_

"That's very—" Edmund spoke somewhat more weakly than before. But Peter still wasn't finished.

_Ah, love! I'll find thy wondrous self_

_With heart of gold and form of elf _

_Or nymphous dryad 'pon the shelf_

_--I'll stay with thee e'er and ever._

He sprang to his feet upon the finish and gave a flowery if unsteady bow. He landed on his nose but, unperturbed, merely rolled onto his back and placed his head atop his hands, gazing dreamily at the clouds. "Is't not good? Is't not verily the bard himself? Yes, I shall be Shakespeare, and she—she my mistress. Come now, what thought you of my sonnets? Ah! I see you, quite overcome with the beauty and wit of it." And he giggled to himself disturbingly.

Edmund remained silent for some time. Then—"What in the name of ruddy barnacles is _nymphous dryad 'pon the shelf_ supposed to mean?"

Peter stopped giggling and squirmed a bit. "That was an exceedingly difficult rhyme, I'll have you know," he sniffed and tried to recover a condescending tone. "And I think you know what it means; _you're_ just being difficult." He sulked over this for a moment. It had sounded _so good_ in his head; how was _he_ supposed to know it was supposed to mean something? Presently, he recovered his good mood and continued. "Anyway, the rest of it—pure Shakespeare, eh? I think I ought to be considered Narnia's Magnificent Bard-king!"

Edmund crowed at this. "Learn how to write a _proper_ sonnet first," he said, looking at Peter as if this was a gorgeous joke. To his great surprise, his brother's eyes filled with tears.

"She left, Ed," tears ran unhindered down the High King's face. "She left me!" He rolled onto his stomach and began to wail at the top of his lungs.

Edmund's face lost the humor-factor. "Alright already, Peter, this is joke enough! Get up. It's time we were getting back to business."

"Joke! JOKE?!" Peter gave a noise that was half-howl, half-bellow. "I suppose you think this is _f-f-f-funny_!"

"No, as a matter of fact, I don't think this is _f-f-f-funny—_not anymore. I know you think it's a good joke—and I'll admit, it was—but Lucy and Susan are going to come back any moment, and if they catch you—I mean _us—_rolling about and blubbering with nothing to show for our time, they'll find some way to saddle us with office work for the rest of our lives."

Peter didn't appear to have heard any of this. "My heart is broken and he calls it a joke," he muttered, hiccoughing in between the words in a most heartfelt manner.

"Hang on," Edmund said slowly. Somewhere in the darkened recesses of his mind, a dim bulb brightened. "Peter, who am I?" demanded he suspiciously.

"S-somebody—but why should I care when I don't even know who _she_ is?" Peter responded, flinging a hand about in a gesture of carelessness. He would have left it at that and gone back to wailing, but a look at Edmund's face revealed the latter ready to murder. "Er, wait—your name's Edward, I think. Ed-_something._ You hung around a bit with me in the first movie. My little brother—who thinks my broken heart is a raging, riotous riddle!"

Edmund sighed exasperatedly. "A joke's not the same thing as a riddle, Peter."

"'Tis too." Peter protested. "'Tis TOO!"

"Alright then, it is. Have it your way." Ed held up two hands patiently. Then he flung them down and growled. "Good _grief_, Peter, you're completely Suestruck!" He yanked at his own hair. "Some joke, Edmund—you stupid lump, why couldn't you _see_—no, no, don't talk to yourself, find the antidote." He hunched over the ground and began to rifle sloppily through his pack. "HA!" He yanked out the syringe, shoved Peter onto his back (he squawked a startled "WHA—?!" but Ed ignored it) and jammed it into his upper leg. "There you go, my bard-king, you'll be right as rain in a few." He stood up and rolled the now-unconscious Peter back onto his stomach. "There! Now if you lose your proverbial lunch, you won't asphyxiate. What a good brother am I!" He kicked at his brother a little angrily, stopping just before his foot connected with the body. "Just wait 'till you're awake," he threatened the prone figure. "Won't I give you a good piece of my mind then!"

He didn't have time to continue making threats, however, for just then Lucy and Susan came dashing over the hill.

"What's got into you two?" he demanded as soon as they seemed to have their breath back.

"Well," Lucy began, stopping abruptly when she spotted Peter. "I say! What happened to him?" She stepped forward with a concerned look on her face, but Ed stopped her.

"Tripped over his own laces, I expect." He still owed Peter one after the laces-jab earlier. Lucy gave him a Look. "Dunno—I found him like that," he clarified, adding hastily. "Anyway, don't worry. I've seen to him; it's nothing serious. He'll be all right."

They seemed to believe the latter statement, for they turned their attentions from Peter and relayed the events and discoveries inside the castle to Edmund.

"Great Scot!" Edmund burst. "Hunting the White Stag? Sounds like the 'Sue!Lucy is about to go home with the Pevensies. It'll be a mess if she does."

"I know," Lucy said, wringing her hands. "I just don't understand how _I_ could become a 'Sue. It's not as though they usually infect other girls. Influence, yes, but completely _'Sueify?_ And now I'm taking it home, and—oh, poor Mum! Poor Professor! Poor Macready!"

"Now, now, let's be reasonable," Susan interrupted firmly. "For all we know, the 'Sue heard the Stag grants wishes and decided she simply must find it right away. It's exactly the sort of thing that would appeal to a 'Sue, after all, whether the 'Sue is Lucy or not. We haven't any proof that this is _the_ Hunting of the White Stag."

"No proof?" Ed countered grimly. "How about the moles I spotted digging outside the wall a few minutes ago? They appeared to be planting trees. I think that should be proof enough."

Susan drew a breath sharply. "Right. We'll go after them, then."

"I'll get horses—"

"No, Edmund," Susan waved him off. "For one thing, using the portals gives us location-jump capabilities, so we won't need them—and for another, you're not going with us."

"But—"

"The likelihood of 'Sue contact is very great, meaning you don't go. You know that. Come on, Lu." Both girls pulled out a small, sphere-like device. Susan said "Lantern Waste!" For a moment, the object buzzed, then proclaimed in a monotone: "Destination – Lantern Waste." There was a bright glow, and then the girls were gone. Edmund stared at the air where they'd been.

"Yuck," Peter moaned from the ground. "My mouth tastes like stale cotton candy." He tried to stand up and promptly fell over, only to try again. He made it all the way up this time and stood, swaying a bit like one intoxicated. "Ugh. I _hate_ cotton candy."

Edmund spun around and strode over to his brother. He seized him by the hair. "What did Eustace become on Dragon Island?"

"Ow! A dragon, you moron," Peter struggled against his brother's grip. Edmund released him. "Pah!" He gagged distastefully on his own tongue. "And _you_ (gag!) need to work on your (gag!) identification tech(gag!)niques. The answer was (gag!) right there in the (gag!) question. Bloo-ha-ha." He spat something on the ground. "Pardon me. Ahh, much better."

"_What_," Edmund began in a terrible tone, "happened to _you_?"

"Tripped over my own laces, apparently," Peter mimicked, wincing a little. "S'pose I deserved that."

"_S'pose!"_ the younger brother was furious. "What do you mean by going after a 'Sue by yourself? –Which is what I assume you were doing, since it's obvious you've wanted to kill one since we got here."

"I would've got her, too," Peter grinned, seemingly oblivious to Edmund's seething. "That is, if my blaster hadn't—hang on, where's my blaster?"

"You _lost_ your blaster?"

"It was out of batteries anyway, I think. Where'd the wretched thing go?"

Edmund ran a hand over his face wearily. "Let me see if I've got this right. You make up some rubbish story about seeing yourself so you can ditch me. Then you sneak up on a 'Sue, get her in your crosshairs and go to shoot—and you're thwarted because you're _out of batteries?_"

Peter nodded distractedly, rummaging about in the grass. "That'd be right." He sat back heavily and shook his head in defeat. "I can't find the blasted thing," he sighed.

Edmund's mouth quirked humorously for the first thing. "What, the blasted blaster? Feeling a bit redundant today, are we?"

"Oh, very funny," Peter grumbled. "Ha. Ha. Ha." His expression became worried. "There's something else, though," he said. "I heard Susan and Lu's story—but it's all wrong. The 'Sue I met was tall, not short by any stretch of the imagination. Anyway, didn't Su send us to the training grounds in the first place because the wretch wasn't supposed to be athletic? Yet that fiend definitely was. And now I have a headache."

"Hang on, I just thought of something else," Ed smacked a hand onto the hilt of his de-Ocifyer. "When you were 'Suestruck, you mentioned Shakespeare and something about being a bard. What 'Sue allows for that knowledge in her enchantment? Shakespeare, maybe, but the bard part? And although your speech wasn't flawless, you used some terminology 'Sues don't usually think of—_and_ your grammar was decent."

An awed look came into Peter's eyes. "I was fractionally lucid," he said. "Will wonders never cease? This means the 'Sue didn't mean to infect me in the first place—"

"—which means either that 'Sue!Lucy doesn't have her sights set on you, which would be a relief since that's pretty much incest, or—"

"—there's two of 'em," Peter finished triumphantly. "Ah ha! Brilliant, Edmund! Two of 'em." Then the implications of this deduction seemed to finally sink in. "Oh no! _Two?_ Please, say it's not so..."

"Given the clothes and the throne, I think there has to be."

Peter slumped over glumly. "_Two._ No, wait—my 'Sue mentioned someone named Cassie. That'll be a third, maybe."

"Oh ho!" Ed pounced. "She's still _your_ 'Sue, eh?"

Peter did not deign to answer this and settled into a stony silence, which would have been dignified if not for the scarlet quality of his face.

Presently, Edmund (deciding his brother had been mortified enough) suggested: "Why don't we investigate the castle ourselves?"

"Is—I mean, you don't think it's a bit risky?"

Edmund snorted and gave him a look. "Peter, we're stuck in Narnia with as many as three 'Sues loose in canon, two of them totally unanticipated and unaccounted for in our safety measures. This is about as risky as it gets, and I'd rather not hang around out here like sitting ducks—especially since one of them saw you here and may come back again."

Peter pondered this a moment and then shrugged. "Off we go, then."

* * *

Lucy and Susan found themselves in Lantern Waste, by the lamppost. They could hear the sound of horses and voices speaking merrily through the trees. Someone was giggling in an exuberant fashion. Lucy winced.

"Quick!" Susan said. "We'll hide by the wardrobe and de-OC-ify ourselves as we go through. Although it'll be tricky, getting the blaster out in time to take care of the 'Sue."

"Don't worry about that," Lucy assured her. "I've got a 'Sue prevention barrier—it'll only take a moment to set up. Here, watch and make sure no one's coming, would you?" She placed a number of green glowing objects on the wardrobe's walls. "Set to...pink." The objects glowed pink briefly and appeared to blend into the wood. "There. That ought to hold her long enough for us to switch to blasters. Then we can nail the fiend."

Susan gave Lucy an odd look. That last statement seemed uncharacteristically violent... "Are you alright, dear?"

"Yes," Lucy said shortly, meaning she wasn't, but Susan hadn't time to call her on it. Several figures were nearing lamppost, apparently bent on examining the object.

"Quick! Hide!" she hissed, shrinking back into the trees on one side of the entrance. Lucy concealed herself on the other side. Weapons cocked, they waited. The figures turned and appeared to be heading their direction. Lucy counted three—no, there were four. She'd missed one. The fourth was extremely short.

They waited by the wardrobe, fingers at the ready. Presently, the figures began to move towards their hiding place. Peter and Susan came into range first. Lucy got Peter and Susan took care of herself. After being hit by the beams of de-OC-ification, the two staggered somewhat stupidly past the trees into the coats and out of sight. Edmund followed. He, unfortunately, was hit by both girls' guns simultaneously and practically swooned in after the first two.

Next, there came the 'Sue.

She looked nothing like Lucy herself (this was somewhat obvious already since none of the servants had recognized Lucy the Keeper, but it was still a relief to the latter). As expected, she stood little more than three feet off the ground. A mass of shimmering blond ringlets bobbed from her head, and her eyes were blue and sparkled dizzyingly. Both keepers fumbled to switch to blasters while the 'Sue attempted to cross the wardrobe—then stopped short.

The 'Sue wasn't trying to get through. She had stopped a few feet away and was staring at the wardrobe, as if making sure the others had gone through completely. Then she let out a mournful howl. "Gone!" and again "Gone! Gone! GONE!" cried she. And then, just to get it all out as perfectly plain as paint as possible, she burst yet again _"GOOOONE!"_

Having emphasized that point sufficiently, she added "Where I cant follow!" This, although not even a complete sentence, seemed to fill her heart with burdensome grief. She promptly burst into tears.

It is perhaps a fitting time to deviate into an explanation of 'Sue tears. No ordinary miniature streams of salt water are these. They are generally large, sometimes (if the grief is very strong and the author's sense of proportion whacked) as large as golf balls, and usually possess an unnatural, shimmering surface that is comparable to any of the following: marbles, diamonds, opals, and/or sundry incandescent spheres of incandescence. 'Sue tears are not known for their healing properties or any such things, although the ground 'pon which they fall is said to often grow a lovely cactus come summer (but not much else).

Susan and Lucy watched, perplexed, as the 'Sue monologued about being left behind and bereft of her love while the darned tears kept falling. Lucy hoped perhaps one might fall into her mouth and act as a cork, but every time one strayed too close to aforesaid be-glossed chasm of sorrow, she raised a tiny hand and brushed it away delicately where it landed on the underbrush and burst on the heads of tiny woodland creatures (who were, sadly enough, never quite right after that).

Finally, she rose, wiped her face (even though there wasn't much to wipe), and said in as best a tone of steely resolution as she could contrive (which wasn't any at all), "i shal go 2 teh castel. i wont let nanria fal to peaces juts becas my luv iz gon!!!1!"

She darted out of sight before Susan or Lucy could think to challenge her, much less shoot. The moment she disappeared they both jumped into action.

"What _were_ you doing?" Susan demanded, emerging from her hiding place. "You could have shot her right there!"

"So could you," Lucy answered crossly. "I don't understand—I thought she'd try to follow Peter back to our world."

"If it's any consolation," Su said, "I don't think she's you at all. She may have stolen your place in canon, but she's not actually you."

Lucy sighed. "I suppose she can't get far—she'll be going back to the castle sure enough; can't have the kingdom falling to _peaces_, can we?"

"I suppose she'd rather have it falling to wars," Susan said wryly. Just then, there came a beeping noise from the pocket of her coat. She whipped out her mobile and answered. "Narnia Keepers, this is Susan."

"Susan, this is the Tolkien division. We seem to have a...a situation, and we need you to take care of it."

"Debrief," Susan ordered automatically, then did a double-take as the information registered. "Hang on a moment, did you say _Tolkien?_"

"_Tolkien?"_ Lucy mouthed queryingly. Susan shook her head, indicating she ought to keep quiet.

"Sir, we're pressed for time working on a case in our own division. May I ask—if you don't mind—why it is necessary for us to take action on behalf of your own division? I assume you have Keepers of your own to handle that work."

The man on the other end cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Yes... and, no. You see," he coughed nervously. "It would appear that our problem is currently in your universe."

Susan was silent a moment. Then—

"Tolkien, I need a thorough debriefing of the situation, and I need you to give it to me NOW."

* * *

* * *

"The girls mentioned something fishy about the guest chamber," Edmund suggested once the brothers were well inside the castle. "Let's try there first."

Peter gave a noise of assent and veered off down a corridor towards the guest wing. "She said the skeleton key Management provided didn't work. It's never failed before—right?"

"Right," Ed nodded. "Then, out of the blue, it fails to unlock our best guest chamber. You remember the one—the governor of the Lone Island's daughter stayed there when he tried to marry her off to you. Come to think of it, she might have been a 'Sue herself... she did wear an awful amount of pink."

Peter shuddered. "How could I forget? She tried to lure me in there, saying she 'saw a rat' and 'help help would the High King kill it pretty please?' Fortunately, you came along then or there's knowing what she'd have tried to pull once I was alone with her..."

"I suppose it's only fitting that there really _was_ a rat in there a few days later," Ed laughed. Peter raised an eyebrow.

"Only fitting? I always wondered if you had something to do with that..."

"Did I _say_ I had something to do with it? It gnawed her best slippers! She was screeching the news all over the castle. _You_ didn't hear about it because you were avoiding her." Edmund protested with an affronted air born of (alleged) innocence. Peter wasn't fooled by this, but merely looked at him suspiciously. "Really! I didn't plant a rat in her—" He stopped both speech and stride. Peter halted too. "Didn't Lucy say they couldn't get the door open?"

Both stared at the door to the middle suite. It was now wide open. They glanced at each other briefly before dashing for the open door and hurtling inside, only to stop up short once again. Their mouths dropped open.

"Well," Edmund said finally. "I suppose she's gone the usual 'Sue's route, changing up the interior decor."

"But it's not the usual 'Sue's way," Peter frowned. "Not at all. It's all so – so – ordinary. Plain. Nothing but this—"

"Blue box?" a voice came from behind them. They whirled to face—

"Cassie!" Peter blurted.

"'Cassie!'" The 'Sue mimicked. "Stupid King – that's why I don't like _you_, 'cause you're so dumb. Cassie stands for Caspian, _stupid_!!!" She shrieked the last part furiously, and then seemed to catch herself. She quieted, smoothing her hair back. "Ahem. Stupid," she repeated.

Peter and Edmund exchanged glances. "Caspian's not here, you know," Peter ventured. "It'll be several hundred years before—"

"I _know_, dummy!" she raged before catching herself once again. "What do you think I'm trying to do? What do you think that is for?" She gestured to what had caught Peter and Edmund's attention in the room in the first place.

"A police box?" Edmund said. "Don't tell me part of a policeman's helmet made its way into Narnia with Jadis and planted itself here by accident too—a sort of accessory to the lamppost."

Clearly, this was all over the girl's head, for she merely looked confused. "Huh?"

"I suppose it _is_ too much to expect you actually bothered to pay attention to any of the unimportant back-story," Ed sighed resignedly.

"Anyway," she ignored Ed's disappointment, "that's why I decided to kidnap you two."

"By Jove! So _that's_ what we're doing here—we've been kidnapped, Ed!" Peter feigned shock.

"Oh no, how shall we ever escape," Edmund worried—in frantic monotones.

"Yeah!" Peter mocked. "I'm so terribly afraid. I daren't fight you, you know—I'm afraid I might fall over dead at the sight of a backflip!"

"Seriously," Ed smirked, "D'you think _you_ can keep both of _us_ from getting through that door?"

The 'Sue huffed and rolled her eyes. "Of course," she said, smoothly shutting the door behind her. "I'll just use this." She pulled out a strange device that appeared to be a cross between a pen and a torch and pushed a button. One end glowed blue and an odd sound came out. "Sonic screwdriver!" She grinned maliciously. "Try and get out _now!_ Even your silly ol' skeleton keys couldn't crack _that._"

A strange sense of foreboding overcame the brothers. "Look," Ed burst. "We're quite happy for you—glad you've got that sonic whatsit and all—but really, isn't this a bit, well, sci-fi for Narnia?"

"You don't know _anything_, do you?" the girl queried loftily. "I'm not _from_ Narnia. I lived in Middle Earth, but was transported to Earth and now—now I can't get home. So I met the Doctor—"

"Doctor who?" Peter asked.

"_The_ Doctor. That's just his name," she paused and muttered to herself "I've always wanted to say that! I'm, liek, a _companion_ now! Just like the show!" and she let out a quiet _squee!_ of triumph. When she returned her attention to the Pevensies, both were fixing her with unimpressed looks of boredom.

"Pray continue," Peter begged without a hint of sincerity.

"We're dying to know the rest, really," Edmund's voice was bland.

"When you're ready, of course," interposed Peter. "We're willing to wait as long as it takes."

"Yes—don't mind us, we've hours and hours to spare; you just sit over there and squee to your sordid 'Sue-ish soul's satisfaction."

"Nice alliteration, Ed."

"Thanks, I rather liked it myself."

The 'Sue began to sense she was being left out of something. "ANYWAY," she began again in tones of forced importance. "AS I WAS SAYING," coughed she. "BACK TO THE INTERESTING PART," she repeated. And then, to ensure the loss of all pretence to politeness, and because Edmund and Peter were sniggering, "PAY ATTENTION TO ME, YOU...YOU...STUPIDHEADS!"

Edmund and Peter were as cowed as cowed could be. They sat in stiff silence, unable to even draw breath.

Well, that's what the 'Sue saw. 'Sues often see what they want to see. Perhaps if they saw reality more often, this one might have noticed the kings' ribs quaking with highly suppressed laughter.

The 'Sue continued. "Anyway, the Doctor's trying to help me get back to Middle Earth. I long to be with my people, and marry my beloved Aragorn."

"Doesn't marriage to Aragorn mean you ultimately can't be with your people?" Peter asked. He seemed to have gotten his breath back.

"No," the 'Sue sulked. "You don't know _anything._ You're _stupid._"

"Pardon me," Peter hastily corrected himself, abasing himself with the deepest of bows. "I had forgotten—my own stupidity slipped my mind for the briefest of moments. It won't happen again, I assure you." He maintained a grave countenance under the piercing gaze of the 'Sue and eventually she nodded, seemingly satisfied with the apology.

"See that it don't," she said airily. "So I desperately want to get back to Aragorn. And that's where I'm going."

"Hang on," Peter interjected slowly. "Not that I know anything (being stupid and all), but if you're so keen on getting back to Aragorn, why are you looking for Caspian?"

For the first time, the 'Sue looked deeply uncomfortable. She squirmed. She fidgeted.

"I see how it is," Edmund's voice broke into the 'Sue's shifty silence. "On your way back to be reunited with your 'twoo wuv' Aragorn you're taking time off to have a passing fling with Caspian. That's your game, isn't it? Can't be happy with desecrating the characters of just one canon; no, you have to have two."

"B-Ben Barnes was so _cute_," she argued feebly. "I just—"

"Really, _movieverse_ Caspian? You're going to all this trouble just to have a fling with that idiot Barnes? Have you _seen_ that state of that fellow's hair?"

"It's hawt," the girl said stiffly. Edmund gave a hooting sort of laugh, but he didn't sound very amused.

"Not only are you despicable for your treatment of both characters, you have rotten taste," he said, leveling a glare at the 'Sue. "To say nothing of being a 'Sue—a fact, by the way, which makes you automatically deserving of punishment in my book." He yanked out his blaster. "So—good-bye."

But before he could pull the trigger, the girl had pointed the little flashlight-thing at his weapon. The blaster made a popping sort of noise and began to emit a nasty-smelling smoke. The 'Sue laughed.

"Your stupid weapon's broken," she laughed again. "I _told_ you—sonic screwdriver."

"Yeah, stupid," Peter muttered. Edmund gave him a glare.

"Come on," she said, "you're going to help me and the Doctor find Caspian."

"The Doctor's _with_ you?" Peter asked.

"Of course," she gave him a look that reminded him of his total stupidity. "He's hawt." She walked over to the blue public call box. "I just want you, Eddie – you're not quite as stupid as Peter, and anyway you're in two ." She opened the door. "Well, come on."

Peter nudged Edmund forward, taking the opportunity to whisper "I'll ring Susan as soon as you're in." But Edmund remained outside, glaring at the 'Sue. "I suppose you're having a fling with this Doctor fellow too, while you're at it. _Hawt._" He stalked toward the box and halted about a foot from the door. Snapping the 'Sue's wretched neck with his bare hands didn't seem to be an option. "By gum," said he. "Don't I wish you were a man so I could punch your head!" Then he buttoned his coat, took a deep breath, and stepped inside the blue box. And he thought then, as he always thought afterward too, that he could not have decently done anything else.

* * *

_Next: In which Edmund finds an ally, Peter does Something Noble, and then it's all hey ho! blasters away!_


	4. Hey Ho, Blasters Away

So. One semester later, I'm back. If you're still paying any attention to this whatsoever, even by accident, I give you much thanks and my undying gratitude (guaranteed until I, uh, die). Oh, and this chapter, of course.

I've little doubt that this isn't a convoluted mess - twenty-two pages, all told, with minimal editing - but I promised certain interested parties (i.e. two members on the Lion's Call) that I'd have it up before I scarper to Far Off Places, and by gum I shall. ^.^ So I apologize for the convolutedness and the errors and the yabbering and the confusingness. At the end of the day, the 'Sue dies and that's what matters. End of story. Bwaha.

_A few words of Clarification before we wrap this thing up: _

_1. Peter. Several people have complained that he bears the brunt of 'Sue abuse – not just for this story, but for others. The reason my stories in _general _seem to pick on Peter is because most of them originated as ideas in the LWW-movie era, when EdmundxSue pairings seemed significantly fewer. I simply haven't 'caught up' so to speak to the post-PC-movie era, in which Skandar is a lot older and no doubt considered more 'hott.' I fully intend to, and in the meantime I do not intend to insult good ol' Pete. If he seems somewhat over-ridiculed in this story, that is because the whole premise is Peter as simply the victim of a Very Bad Day. This makes sense (at least to me) in the grand scope of things: first his siblings conspired against him and got him out of bed far too early on a mission nobody really understood, and then he gets mistaken for Caspian and blasted with 'Sue-charm which effectively removes the brains of even the most stalwart Canon Keeper (this is not a slur against Peter; he merely illustrates a universal plight), and then – well, I hope nobody thought in the last part when the 'Sue was calling him "stupidhead" that he really was being stupid. His rather dry responses to her childish and imbalanced insults were (I thought) a show of good wit rather than brainlessness. The charge of brain-lack was leveled wholly against the 'Sue in that scene. So from my point of view, the only really dumb thing Peter has done in this story is try to sneak in a (faulty) 'Sue blaster and take out a 'Sue on his own – which, honestly, if you had an entire species persecuting you, your siblings, and your entire kingdom (not to mention slaughtering the name of the Son of the Emperor-across-the-Sea) wouldn't you be rather eager to zap one or two yourself? I personally think Peter's been rather splendid throughout the whole thing, really – and let's don't forget: this is the chapter in which he does Something Noble, which I hope will redeem him in the eyes of my readers._

_2. Edmund. Edmund seems a bit too dashing. That's partly because he _is_ dashing – cough – and partly because he's just not had a Very Bad Day yet. Eustace and Peter – both beloved characters, especially the former – have both had theirs and I fully intend to give Ed his;; I just haven't yet. But when I do, you can rest assured that it shall be thoroughly ridiculous. _

_3. Poetry. While I can (in all probability) write it seriously, I usually don't. This is partly because I wrote such wretched stuff when I was younger, and partly because all I really can do is rhyme and pseudo-rhyme and pseudo-pseudo-rhyme. But it's a sort of tradition between my father and me to make up little mocking rhymes – rewriting pop and traditional songs, et cetera. Thus, the 'Sue-struck sonnets are _intentionallyhorrendous_, and (hopefully) do not reflect the entire scope of my poem-writing abilities. I think one may safely say as much; _I_ should never have to resort to "'pon the shelf."_

_4. Rattling. I realize a lot of the dialogue in here is rather convoluted. That's partially because of the characters running around and getting excited and not having much time to explain things, but also largely because of the presence of a certain character who's famous for rattling. I can only say that when it happens, it is most likely intentional and I apologize if it's a bit confusing. I hope I haven't overdone it. _

_

* * *

  
_

**Canon Keepers IX – **by JotM

_4. In which Peter does Something Noble_

Peter still stood in the guest room beside the little blue box for several minutes after Edmund and the 'Sue disappeared behind its door. It simply sat there, windows blankly returning his glare. He went up to the door and tried it gently, but it wouldn't budge. He pressed his ear to one of the walls – some of the blue paint was cracked and clung to the side of his face to a comical effect – but he couldn't hear anything. Frustrated, at last he resorted to the age old remedy for all perturbations and kicked the thing.

That hurt. He danced back a few feet in pain and clutched his injured appendage. Just then, the blue box emitted a sort of whirring noise that was (to Peter's ears) rather vile, and began to disappear. Within a few seconds, it was gone entirely. Peter stood holding his foot in an empty room, staring at a blank patch of thin air with dumbfounded disbelief.

The next moment, he hefted a chair over his shoulders and begun beating the spare room's door down. That zapper-sonic-thing might have locked the door unlockably, but it couldn't have made the wood any sturdier in the meantime. With the 'Sue gone but perhaps not for long, Peter was not going to waste any time. Wham! Wham! _Wham!_ He struck it 'till the entire door shuddered and splintered a little and showed signs of giving way. Then Peter flung the chair aside and threw his shoulder into it. Once! Twice! Thri—

The door gave way in the midst of the third attempt and Peter went sprawling into the hallway, straight into the arms of a golden-haired girl standing just outside.

* * *

The interior of the blue box was much, much larger than the outside, a fact which Edmund (being an intelligent chap) noted immediately. He blinked at his surroundings with no small amount of surprise. "It's bigger on the inside, innit?" chirped the 'Sue.

At that, there came a groan from behind some sort of console in the middle of the room. "Could you _please_ give that line a rest? I've heard it—blimey, too many times, I've heard it."

"Seems like a bit of an overstatement to me," Edmund said before he could help himself.

"Really?" The voice—which was rather squeaky when it was bemused—was followed by a head popping up from behind the control panel. The head wore a shock of exceedingly spiked hair and a face which gave Edmund a calculating look. "Overstatement, eh? Find the TARDIS small, do you?"

"Oh—I don't mean that as a bad thing," Ed amended hastily. "I mean, it's just that—well, I found a whole country in a wardrobe. This is rather unimpressive in comparison." The man raised an eyebrow—though, indeed, one eyebrow seemed to be perpetually raised, so the effect was rather drastic—and looked at him even more keenly.

There was no chance for further conversation, however, for the 'Sue 'hmmphed' rather indignantly at this (probably more offended by not being the subject of the conversation than by Edmund's nonchalance about the TARDIS's splendor) and sashayed up to the controls.

"Doctor," she said. "I need you to use this boy to get into the Prince Caspian timeline."

The man—Doctor?—shook his head. "I told you, this—all this—intruding on literary timelines—well, it's a bit outside of my jurisdiction. I mean, I mess with Time, yeah, but what about Time that never existed except on a page in words? In a sense, it's a much more powerful—and dangerous—venture. I don't like it."

His warning was met with an eyerolling. Edmund got the feeling the 'Sue didn't comprehend half of what the Doctor had just said, but then he wasn't certain he understood it himself. "As you feel the need to remind me daily." She sidled up to him, giggling. "But you will try, won't you?"

They stared at each other for a brief moment. Then the man's eyes rolled back into his head. When he opened them again they wore a slightly glazed sheen. "For you, my love," he gushed overenthusiastically and began hitting seemingly random buttons on the panel with his mallet. The 'Sue turned away with a smirk of triumph.

"I knew it," Edmund said in a low, dangerous tone. "A besotted 'Sue is one thing, but you're worse than that. You don't care two straws for him, really, do you? You just whap him with a bit of Suecharm when you need something done for you."

The 'Sue shrugged. "Sustaining the Suecharm at a highly effective level for long amounts of time takes energy, and I need to save energy for Cassie. _He's_ my one true love, but ever since Disney paired him with Susan I've been expecting a bit of resistance to my charms. Shan't waste any on this bloke. But I can make anyone do anything--and you are no exception." She looked up swiftly and locked eyes with him before he could turn away. Edmund felt the back of his knees give way and he had to grab a nearby pillar to steady himself. A fog of pink pushed at the edges of his consciousness, and then vanished swiftly as the 'Sue turned her back on him and shut off the charm. "See? You're just as susceptible as the rest of them, so… I wouldn't push it if I were you."

She swirled around in a flurry of dark hair and flounced through a doorway, calling something over her shoulder about not trying anything because she had the place locked down.

Edmund stared dumbfoundedly at the spot where the 'Sue had been standing. There was a moment of silence. Then—

"Ack! Ooh. Ow. Ow. That's _nasty,_" the man behind the console gagged a little and swayed dangerously, clinging to the edge of the panel for support. The Narnian king stepped up quickly to the man's side and steadied him. "Ooh. Better. Much…better." The man shook his head, and Edmund noted that his eyes were cleared and sharp again. "Always takes me by surprise. Think I've gotten used to it, and then… WHAM! She gets me." Ed jumped a little at the 'WHAM,' but the other shrugged. "She won't hear us. She's off practicing her hip hop. Loud music. I soundproofed her dance studio in my sane moments, otherwise we'd probably be…deaf." He eyed Edmund. "But hold on. You said—just the other day—well, today, same difference—you said you got into a country by a wardrobe. That makes you—"

"Edmund Pevensie." Edmund stuck out his hand and the man seized it enthusiastically.

"Brilliant!" he crowed. "Narnia. Talking animals. Swordfights. Dering do. But you're a book character," his face shifted to what Edmund assumed was 'serious mode.' "And book characters, as I've said before and keep saying, are different from real life characters from the deep, dark past. Of course, there're dozens of characters from trashy books—sort of like that girl there—who might come prancing in and create havoc, but their power lies in their utter falsity. They're like cheap imitations of real people; half-people, at most. But you," he eyed Edmund solemnly. "With your kind, I think the problem will be that you are real. Too real. More real than reality, so-called, or at least this one."

"What do you mean, this reality? Have I got into another world?"

"Another world, another universe, another reality—whatever you prefer." The Doctor glared shrewdly. "You're just a page of words here, but words are powerful things and she brought you to life. You're from our world, and yet…not from our world. You don't exist, but insofar as you exist you only exist here. As I said—too real."

"But…I'm solid. I'm just like you. I shook your hand. How can I do all that and still be too real?"

The Doctor shrugged. "I don't know. I said it. That doesn't mean I know what it means. But who knows?" He straightened and all but bounded around the control panel several times, slamming down switches and pushing buttons in a haphazard frenzy. "Words are powerful things. You're words, and she made you solid. That makes you a powerful thing. It could be catastrophic. You know—shut off the sun, tear a hole in the fabric of time and space—take your pick. I generally just select one at random to indicate 'This Is A Big Deal.' People don't understand that it's a Big Deal unless you say something like 'it'll shut off the sun,' and then they're all 'ooh! Big Deal!' Then again—you might be powerful enough to solve our," he gestured to the doorway meaningfully, "problem. It might turn out well; it might end the universe. I don't know. But I can promise you one thing."

Edmund wasn't sure he wanted to know, but he felt compelled to ask: "What?"

The man grinned. "It'll be _brilliant._" He cranked a handle extra hard and the whole room—machine—thing—swayed dangerously. "'Coz I'm here, you know. Things generally are brilliant when I'm around. I'm the Doctor, by the way."

"Nice to meet you, The Doctor," Edmund said, though his tone left the sincerity of that statement somewhat in question. There was no need to shake hands as they'd already done so, and somehow leaving off the introduction without a handshake felt awkward. He hurried into another question. "Um, and who's the girl? The 'Sue, I mean; I know she's a 'Sue, but what is she pretending to be?"

"Oh, that's Lys. Lys Aranel, I believe she calls herself. Styles herself as an Elf from Lord of the Rings, but that's a cheap story if I ever heard one. She's a self-insert. Took herself from some bogus work of fiction – 'fan-fiction,' I think they call it; can't disagree with the name as the stories tend to generate little more than lots of wind. She was created by the mind of a severely undereducated thirteen-year-old who slapped her in the Lord of the Rings canon."

"Yes," Edmund said, trying not to laugh. "I've heard of the like before—you called it 'fan-fiction?'"

The Doctor took Edmund's falsely innocent inquisitiveness for the genuine article and launched an explanation. "Yes, nasty stuff. One or two decent sorts, but the whole system of regulating it is completely flawed. Anyway, Lys spent a few thousand years with the Elves; tried to take over Lothlorien but Galadriel showed _her_. I believe her next move was to attempt elopement with Haldir across the Sea, but security at Grey Havens have a few Canon representatives running sensors there and they wouldn't let her through in spite of her charms. Folk from some backwater group; call themselves 'Canon Keepers.' Rubbish technology and not a lot of brains, but they mean well."

"I know the type," Edmund said, feelings lending a funny quake to his voice. The Doctor eyed him strangely, but when the Narnian simply coughed a little and mumbled some apology about a trifling lung condition, he continued.

"So she dumped Haldir and usurped Aragorn's affections from Arwen, but she didn't make it back from a fall over the cliff in _Two Towers._ By this point book and movie canon had been miserably confused; I'm sure whoever cleaned that up wasn't happy, if anyone did clean it up. Like I said… Canon Keepers aren't the brightest tools in the cookie jar. She couldn't die, though; she was merely beamed into the twentieth century where she decided I existed, and using me would be a good idea to get back to her beloved Aragorn. And of course, taking a detour by way of Caspian will just be icing on the cake." The Doctor ran a hand over his face. "It really doesn't make sense when I say it, does it?"

"Why you?" Edmund asked. "I mean, if she has this TARDIS-thing, wouldn't any old bloke do?"

"No," the man shook his head. "I'm not just anyone. I'm a Time Lord. Last of the Time Lords, in fact." He assumed a suitably angst-ridden expression and looked modestly at the buttons before him, but Edmund pressed on with the questioning.

"So you are, in fact, not human?" He asked.

"No," the Doctor said. He sounded somewhat miffed that Edmund had shown so little curiosity in his 'Last of the Time-Lords' title. "Is that alright?"

Edmund shrugged. "I come from the land of Talking Beasts and Dryads and Naiads. I was their king, and I loved them. It doesn't bother me."

"Pity you're not real," the Doctor said suddenly. "Or too real. Whatever. Point is, I'm short on companions now—_she_ doesn't count, of course. Speaking of which, my sensors are telling me she's about done with her dance routine. She'll hit the Jacuzzi and then it'll be back here."

"Have we got a few minutes?" asked Ed. The Time Lord nodded. "Good," he said, rummaging in his pockets.

"Technology backfires in here," the Doctor warned him. "Especially Anti-Sue technology. Not that you'd know what that is."

"This isn't technology," Ed said. "Not like glowing-blue buzzers and things. It's designed to evade their sensors. Got a precaution, anyway. If it's detected and tampered with by 'Suepowers, the contents immediately vanish." He pulled out a pack of syringes filled with a thick, brown liquid. "Still full, see? So it's good. We call this…liquid intelligence. More specifically, Anti-'Sue intelligence. If you dose a Canon character with this and they've already been shot with 'Suecharm at some point, it calibrates the degree to which they are able to be affected by that particular 'Sue and removes the effects. Furthermore, it protects them from such in the future. Means you've got to go through a blast of 'Sue first, so it's not always useful, especially if you're in a case on your won, but in this instance since we've both been dosed but only temporarily it shall prove invaluable."

The Doctor eyed it dubiously. "If that backfires… wait a minute, where did you get—how do you know about 'Sue technology—and how do you know so much about Suecharm?—and who's '_we'?_"

"It won't backfire," Edmund assured him, ignoring the question. "Trust me—I may be from a backwater group and (admittedly) on my worst days more than somewhat lacking in brains, but even our rubbish technologists make sure this stuff works." He received a blank gape.

"But…you…" stammered the Time Lord.

"I'm a Canon Keeper," Edmund said with no small amount of relish. "Lewis division, at your service—and not the last of my kind, thank goodness!" He grabbed the man's forearm and administered the shot while the man was off-guard ('Ow!' yelped the Doctor.) "There. Give it a few minutes and even the strongest Suecharm won't affect you, though it might be wise to pretend it does—for the sake of self-preservation. It doesn't protect against the side-affects of Suetantrums, after all. Nails scratching and things like that. Ugh. My turn." He gritted his teeth and put the other syringe to his own arm. "There. We're both covered." Looking around hastily, he discarded them both under the grating.

"Oy!" The Doctor seemed to come to himself. "Watch where you litter! This is a TARDIS—last and finest of her kind—T-A-R-D-I-S—that's Time And Relative Dimen—"

"No time for that," Edmund said. "Let's think of how we'll deal with this Lys-girl. If my gun wasn't broken, we could get her when we arrive in Prince Caspian timeline—if you're going to get us there, that is."

"Should be there any minute," the Time Lord said. "You have a gun, you say? I don't like guns."

"It's specifically designed to destroy Lys's kind," Edmund said bluntly. "Who, as you say, are a perversion of reality; less than words on paper. And I've a duty as a Canon Keeper to get rid of all her kind."

The Doctor's eyes bugged. "Now you're talking genocide—"

"Unless you'd like to spend the rest of your life in her company, I suggest you get over it," Edmund said quietly. "I don't go after their kind 'till they come after mine. It's not just my life that I'm protecting. I've got a kingdom back there—in Narnia—and there it's once a King, always a King. When 'Sues get in, bad things happen to my people. It's my duty to stop them. Besides, she's not real. You said so yourself in that long rattle-off you just gave me."

The Doctor was silent a while. Then—"Give me the gun," he said. He performed some kind of Time-Lord-rite over it with a glowing blue light. The thing popped and exploded and looked worse than before. The Doctor made a face and shoved it into his coat pocket. "We'll have to get out of 'Sue-range before we can fix that."

But Edmund was staring at the glowing object. "Lys had one of those," he said.

"Sonic screwdriver? Nah, not really. She took it at first, but I swapped it in one of my saner moments for a cheap look-alike that handles simple locks and machinery. I love my sonic screwdriver. Never let it fall into the hands of her kind. And there are too many settings on this thing; she might've hurt someone, or worse."

"You mean she could've killed someone with that thing?"

"No, she might've figured out how to really use it." The Doctor grimaced. "Nothing worse than a half-clever 'Sue. Look out! She's coming. Er, put your hand here."

Edmund placed his hand on a glowing green button just as the 'Sue entered the console room.

"What's going on here?" asked she suspiciously. "What have the two of you been doing? Why's he got his hand there?"

"Scanning," squawked The Doctor blithely. "Pinpointing his source of origin. That'll take us wham-bam back to Prince Caspian." At Lys's blank look, he clarified. "It's…something spacey, what he's doing. Wherever he came from before he went after you—i.e. _Prince Caspian,_ obviously—is where the TARDIS is taking us. Well, it might take us to the _Voyage of the Dawn Treader,_ but your—er—Cassie will still be there, you know. Same with _Last Battle_. Sort of. Anyway. All good in the end." He smiled in what he probably thought was a reassuring manner.

The 'Sue blinked blankly for a few seconds Clearly, this meant very little to her—she had probably never heard of _Voyage_ or _The Last Battle._ But she could hardly admit this, so she nodded firmly and said, "Like, just do your thing."

"No worries there, Cap'n 'Sue," muttered The Doctor. "Pity you didn't pay enough attention to my show to know that 'my thing' generally implies the demise of the likes of you."

* * *

"Peter!" gasped the girl dramatically, nearly falling over backwards from the force of his launch. Peter's mind caught up with his situation—the golden hair, the gasping—and realized just who had saved him from falling over. He drew breath to say "Unhand me, foul 'Sue!" but it came out more like "Squaaawwck!" as he wrenched himself furiously from her grasp and tumbled back through the splintered doorway and onto the floor of the guest room. Stars danced before his vision. As they cleared, they revealed the worried face of—

Lucy.

For a moment, Peter relaxed and let out a breath. Lucy. Not some fiendish 'Sue; just Lucy, his sister. Then he remembered something—something he'd heard through the fog of 'Sue-smoke while the antiSue was taking its effect—something about Lucy being the 'Sue. He sat up—the room spun uncomfortably—and scooted backwards in a most undignified manner.

"Stay away!" he charged the girl who was not his sister. "Keep back! I'm warning you—I'm—I'm armed."

She rolled her eyes. "Peter. It's me. I heard banging and came running. Susan's just behind me."

"Foul fiendish 'Sue—I am aware of your malicious designs—" gasped Peter. "Taking the form of my sister for a guise—it's despicable! But rather believable, y'know. Shouldn't you be wearing more pink?"

Understanding crossed the creature's face. "Peter, we were wrong about that—the 'Sue merely took my place in Canon; she wasn't actually _me._ But she'll be here shortly and we don't have time—"

"What did you and Caspian and the rest discover on Goldwater Island?" demanded Peter.

"Water that turned things to gold," Lucy said. "You really need to work on your identification techniques—the answer was right there in the question."

Peter huffed disgruntledly, having said just the same to Edmund a few hours previous. "Well, then, what was in the water?" Peter persisted.

"A lost Lord. Satisfied now? If you're not, I can take you to the throne room. I wouldn't fit on the chair they've got in my place."

"Fine," Peter grumbled. "You gave me a turn, s'all; thought I'd stumbled right into the arms of a 'Sue."

"Speaking of which," Lucy said, "if you and Edmund managed to get into the locked room, how come you were breaking out?"

His response came out in a rush. "It was open and we went inside, but she locked it with her sonic zapper. Then she took Edmund away in the blue box and I had to get out. She took Ed, Lu!"

"Right." The girl paused, then continued delicately. "Peter, the last time I saw you, you were lying unconscious on the ground. Did you, perchance, hit your head rather hard on a very large rock just prior to that?"

"I'm not crazy," Peter said. "Ed and I worked it out after you girls went after the one 'Sue that there was another 'Sue and so we figured it was time to investigate the locked room. Only it wasn't locked when we came here, so we went in and then she turned up and locked the door behind us and took Edmund away in her blue-box thing. I don't know what it was. They went inside and I kicked it and it disappeared. And then I broke the door down." He drew a breath. "But I'm sure he'll be back soon, so perhaps you'd better go after this one—"

"Peter," Lucy asked in a low, dangerous tone. "How did you and Edmund work out that there were two 'Sues?"

"We're…clever." Peter mumbled. Lucy narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth to ask another question, but just then Susan ran up the corridor and interrupted.

"Oh, good, you've found him. Look, we're going to have to follow this plan quickly. We made contact with Tolkien. It seems this girl is from their canon. We can blast her, but it won't be nearly so effective—she'll just go back to her own world. You know—for complete obliteration, it has to be a character from the original canon that does the slaying. They had a trap all set for her in Mirkwood—she's going to have a fling with Legolas—but somehow she elected to come here first. We figure the author randomly viewed one of the Narnia films and fell in love with Will Moseley. But Peter's just left this world, and the character is going to go back to goodness-knows-where in Middle Earth. It seems she's got superior technology."

"Does this superior technology have anything to do with a cartwheel-turning Elf riding around in a blue box with sonic zappers?"

"Of course not," Susan gave him a strange look. "Just the usual—she has a crude rendition of a canon jumper. Makes for abhorrently jumpy plot shifts—the whole "suddenly, she was in NANRIA!" thing, complete with misspelling—but it does the job. We figure she's going to come back here, go into a period of mourning, and then jump back to Tolkien. We've got to find her jumper and program it to send her to our Canon department. That's your job. Personnel from Tolkien will be waiting on our floor to send her where she belongs."

"Well, that's great," Peter groaned. "Her jumper could be anything, anywhere. Where do we begin looking?"

"The throne room," Lucy said suddenly. "It's got to be the throne room. Her throne, remember? The little pink thing. I'll bet anything if we'd looked closer we'd've found a brand name—Cannon, or some such rubbish title; people are always misspelling the word. Drives me—"

"Ahem," said Peter.

Lucy flushed and came out of her rant. "Right. Peter, you go to the throne room and see about that throne. Susan and I will stay out here and try to head her off 'till you're finished."

"We haven't got much time," Peter said anxiously. "That anti'Sue stuff Ed dosed me with will only last another half an hour at most, and the 'Sue could be back any moment."

"What do you mean, 'Anti'Sue stuff?'" demanded Susan. "Those shots only work on a person who's just been affected—"

"Like I said," interjected Peter. "Not much time. Must dash."

And in another moment, he was sprinting towards the throne room, leaving two girls muttering darkly behind him.

* * *

"Canon Keepers, eh?" the Doctor muttered to Edmund over the console. The 'Sue was humming a mangled version of 'The Call' blithely in the corner and ignoring them.

"Yeah," Edmund flashed a brief (if wry) grin. "Bit backwater, but they're alright."

The Doctor made a face at this repeat of his previous words and changed the subject. "So … a 'Sue didn't bring you to this reality, then?"

"I'm not sure," frowned Edmund, "but I think not. We were pulled into 'reality' for the sake of defending our origin, but when we go back there are still 'versions' of ourself there – like a bookmark, holding a place. These are the copies that the 'Sues generally affect, though sometimes," he made a face, "they get hold of us too."

"Well, whoever's running your organization," said the Doctor seriously, "is probably doing something illegal."

"Yeah, but…" Edmund shrugged. "It seems to be good. I mean, it works. And since the 'Sue is just a cheap copy of what _might_ be in Narnia, and I'm the real thing, it gives me an advantage over her. Of course, I can be affected, but once a slain 'Sue in Narnia, always a slain 'Sue." He paused. "The more I talk, the more I realize: it probably _is_ illegal."

"Sounds a bit like time travel," shrugged the Doctor. "Are you ever seen by yourself? I mean by the other version of yourself?"

Ed wrinkled his nose. "We try to avoid that. Turns people stark raving mad, generally, and then Eustace—my cousin, you know—has to go in and psyche it out of them. Only they have to dress him up, because the LWW and PC universes don't allow for anybody to like him. So he usually goes as an owl. Always complains about the feathered sensation he gets afterwards. Once he went as a mole. We've got pictures."

"Your people sound like Torchwood on literary steroids," frowned the Doctor.

"Fair enough," said Edmund. "Most of what you say just sounds like nonsense."

They both snorted and then coughed. Lys looked up suspiciously from her magazine, but both appeared to be busily engaged in some spacey-procedure to coax the air of Narnia from Edmund's lungs. The Doctor seemed to have no end of bogus means of pretending to be pinpointing a location. Finally, the 'Sue looked away and Edmund stopped breathing onto the screen and looked up at the Doctor.

"Do you really think we'll—er—rip a hole in the sun?"

"It's generally _shutting off_ the sun," corrected he, "and no, I don't think so. If you weren't pulled here by a 'Sue then it's probably someone who knows what they're doing. Of course, that makes the probability of a catastrophe triple in size— nothing worse than someone who knows what they're doing—dangerous business, knowing things. I prefer to remain clueless but brilliant, personally."

Edmund privately wondered if most of the 'brilliant' effect was kept up by the glasses, but did not voice this opinion.

"What're you doing _now_?" demanded the 'Sue.

"Talking," said Edmund quickly. "Coordinates from the tone of my voice and… all that."

"You learn quickly," coughed the Doctor. "Couldn't have thought of a dumber idea myself."

"Thanks."

The Doctor stared into space for a few moments and then seemed to collect himself. "Right. Enough flim-flam. We're going to go to your last location. Put your hand here."

"What?" Edmund stared. "You mean you can actually do that by using my hand? I thought that was just more of your… spacetalk."

"On occasion I do speak sensibly," said the Doctor affrontedly. "Once or twice in my life, at least. Anyway, you used some sort of a teleport or something to get from your base to Narnia, correct?" Edmund nodded. "So… I just use the coordinates in the electromagnetic residue from your hand to beam us … back to where you came from."

"But the last place I was before Narnia wasn't anywhere in the story's timeline," Edmund protested. "You'll be taking us right back to _Canon Keepers, Inc._"

"Precisely," said the Doctor grimly. "You said that members of the Canon where the 'Sue originated have a more drastic effect on the 'Sue? Well… then let's take her to meet her makers, or representatives thereof at any rate. I reckon there're a few Tolkien representatives who won't be happy with her tomfoolery." And with that he sent the little blue box spinning towards Canon Keepers, Inc., Planet Earth.

* * *

Meanwhile, the main room of the Lewis division had been invaded by four decidedly un-Lewisian characters. All the lights were turned off and the room was only lit by the light of an enormous computer screen on Lucy's desk, so as to give the whole thing a dramatic, CSI-type appearance. This was the general habit of the Tolkien representatives—well, Aragorn, at any rate.

"We've got incoming," said a tall, dark-haired woman. Her pale, elvish features waxed ghostly with incongruity in the light of the computer she was using.

"Is it them?" inquired the man behind her. He was sufficiently scruffy enough to be none other than Aragorn himself, who chose to go back to his Ranger-appearance now that his public life had quieted significantly.

"I'm… not sure what it is. The scanners are picking it up. There—there it is. It doesn't look like them. Of course, this _is_ Lewis, so one never knows…"

There were other quiet disparagements leveled towards Lewis representatives from the two other occupants of the room.

"Call the Steward in," Aragorn put his nose quite close to the screen and scrunched up his face. "He might know what to make of this—what _is_ it?"

"It's got a 'Sue in it, I'll bet my beard," growled a short figure that happened to be Gimli, shaking his axe menacingly at the screen.

"Bashing the computer screen won't stop it from coming," said another Elf, removing himself from the top of Susan's vacant desk and moving with catlike grace to stand behind the computer with the rest of them. "So I suggest you put that orc-cleaver down and think of the fuss Management made when you wrecked the last one. I was writing funding requests for weeks before they replaced it."

"It's a flying shed," Aragorn announced, with more conviction than he felt.

"Wreck a lousy computer once and nobody lets you forget it," grumbled the Dwarf.

"Did I mention I wrote all those requests by hand?" Legolas inquired of the ceiling.

"What kind of 'Sue rides in a flying shed?" queried Arwen.

"A soon-to-be-dead kind, that's what," Gimli answered, and patted the handle of his axe fondly.

Legolas rolled his eyes.

* * *

Peter had inspected the throne thoroughly—front, back, over, and underneath—and still nothing presented itself as a sort of control panel. He had spoken many 'Sueish incantations—"ilurrvpetrpvnsy" was terribly awkward to say aloud—and thought as glittery of thoughts as he could, but the thing remained a lump of pink plastic covered with faux diamonds. The only reason he kept at it was a tiny logo under the seat, which read "CannonX.2" If that wasn't a sign of a canon jumper, his uncle was the chief Duffer. 'Perhaps she's keeping the controls elsewhere—somewhere in this room, perhaps,' he mused, standing with his back to the throne and looking about the room. Before he could follow through on this idea, however, the doors banged open and in ran a (very short) mass of flying blonde curls and golf-ball-sized tears that was the 'Sue.

The 'Sue halted with a squeak of surprise and—was that dismay?

Peter halted too. Then his senses overtook him and he stumbled backwards haphazardly. There could not be more than a quarter of an hour with the Anti'Sue charm. That would give him plenty of time to run past her—she was so short, there was no way she could physically stop him—and get back to the teleporters. Susan and Lucy could deal with her.

But… she had come here. That meant in all probability that the throne _was_ the canon jumper, and she meant to use it. Their job was to send her back, and he'd yet to get it reprogrammed. He didn't even know where it was.

He had to stall her. Which meant… oh, every curse and bewailment known to mankind!

It meant he had to fall in love with her.

* * *

"Sir, the Steward's arrived," a man in a dark cloak reported and then withdrew. Aragorn watched him leave and snorted.

"White collar wannabes," he said scornfully. "Think because they do the running work and wear a dark cloak they can 'fit in'."

"Now, now," said a soft voice from the shadows. "No soap-boxing when there's work to be done."

"Faramir," said Arwen with some relief. "We need your help."

"Hence why you called me," said the man. He stepped into the computer's light, one corner of his mouth tipped up in a rueful expression. "Why is it always so dark when Aragorn's on the job? Granted, the ranger in me doesn't mind, but isn't it a bit… NCIS-meets-the-Dunedain? Like, 'we have cloaks and computers, booyah!'?"

"When you're finished having fun with my preferences," Aragorn interjected, "would you be so kind as to identify this object? If you can, that is."

Faramir peered at the computer screen. "Oh, yes, that's a TARDIS," he said easily.

"Well!" Gimli exclaimed. "That makes sense. It's a TARDIS! Why didn't we think of that?"

"Could it be we did not think of it because none of us has any idea what a TARDIS is?" inquired Legolas with no small amount of sarcasm.

"By Jove! You may be onto something there!" Gimli said, in what was admittedly a very good imitation of Peter Pevensie himself.

"None of you have ever watched _Doctor Who?_" Faramir asked, his mouth dropping open and eyes bugging out with all the disbelief of a hopeless fan.

"Not all of us have chosen to consign ourselves to the fate of computer nerds in this world," Arwen muttered.

"Hey!" protested Faramir. "Just because it's sci-fi and _cool_—"

Aragorn coughed. "When you two are finished bickering like Legolas and Gimli over here…" There was a chorus of "hey!" from all the others present.

"Anyway, it's a space and time travel device," Faramir continued. Arwen coughed something that sounded suspiciously like "nerd." The Steward glared at her but let it slide. "If it's coming here then in all likelihood that means—" He paused for dramatic effect. Everyone looked at him expectantly. "Actually, I haven't the faintest clue what comes after that, but I trust you're more than adept to handle whatever's in there." He swaggered cheerfully out the door before popping his head back in to say, "Oh, did I mention? It's bigger on the inside, so there really could be anything in there. Though I doubt it's a fully-manned mumakil, if that's any consolation. Cheerio." And he promptly disappeared again.

"He never said 'cheerio' before he started watching those British shows," Aragorn frowned, staring at the empty doorway disgustedly. "BCB, or whatever it's called."

"Computers," Gimli said wisely. "Give people who run 'em big heads. Better to just meet the things swiftly with the head of your axe. Save everybody a lot of trouble."

"You'd think he'd want to save me a lot of trouble," Legolas remarked to the dust bin. "Five hours of paperwork _by hand _is a lot of trouble, but does he ever listen?"

* * *

"Petr?!" squeaked the 'Sue with so much surprise that she actually capitalized his name. "iz…iz taht u?!"

"Yes," mumbled Peter. His knees felt a little weak—horror, not 'Suecharm—and he found he had to sit down in the 'Sue's chair. "Yes—erm, _my love,_ it's me."

"but…but…liek…how?!" gasped Lucy.

"I'm…not sure. I mean," he coughed and assumed a pompous air to his voice. "I went through the wardrobe, but …" He could not do this! He couldn't think of what to say next! Hearts. That was it. They were always going on about hearts. Talk about his heart. That would fool her. "Um, my heart could not be denied."

"ur…heart?"

He could see _hers_ melting already and gathered speed. "Yes, my heart. That is, your heart, for … er… doesn't it belong to you? Anyway, I, um, followed my heart, and it led me straight to you, because it's…yours."

The girl swayed on her feet, the mass of blonde curls that was her hair swaying with her like the branches of some enormously topped tree. "Ohhh!" She all but swooned.

Peter thought with no small amount of vehemence that if he _ever_ met a girl in everyday life who responded thusly to such a speech, he would be hard pressed to not defenestrate her then and there. But he remembered his duty to CK, Inc., and the many Keepers from the Tolkien division who were no doubt anxiously awaiting her arrival and elimination, and he clenched his hands around the armrests of the throne to restrain himself.

And that was when it happened. There, in the air before him, there appeared a screen. The armrests were covered with glowing buttons, and he could see one that read "Fix Coordinates." A quick glance to the 'Sue revealed that she had begun to compose and sing a song to him and the wonders of his heart-following. Surreptitiously, he selected 'Fix Coordinates' and then slowly—painstakingly—he'd always been a hunter-and-pecker—typed in the address for Canon Keepers, Inc. Just for good measure, he sent her to the Tolkien division, where there would be sure to be people to take care of her.

It was some minutes later when the girl had finished her musical number entitled "Follow Your Heart" and also finished the Reprise, the Reprise to the Reprise, the Halfprise, the Reprise to the Halfprise, and the , and then for good measure hummed the theme half a dozen times while dancing around with imaginary baby deer and rabbits with clover between their teeth. Peter was beginning to fear for the AntiSue dose that Edmund had given him. It couldn't have much more time on it.

"Um, heart of my hearts," he babbled nigh-feverishly, even as he pushed the button to launch the contents of the throne to wherever in thirty seconds, "sit yourself on your throne," he removed himself with some difficulty from it (it was rather too small for him), "and let us … survey our kingdom together?" He scrambled to mention the heart-thing again; that seemed to have a persuasive effect. "As though we were one…heart?"

_Twenty-seven… twenty-six…_

For the first time, something akin to conflict tore across the 'Sue's face. "But," asked she quietly, "what about Legolas?"

* * *

"What about Legolas?" asked Aragorn, waking suddenly and trying to pretend he hadn't been asleep.

"I said, there's something in this hobbit-girl's profile about Legolas," Arwen said. "Were you asleep?"

"Maybe," Aragorn hedged. "What about Legolas?"

"She's always admired and looked up to him. What do you _think?!_ The usual 'Sueish designs."

"Ah," Legolas removed himself from the top of Susan's desk, where he had once again taken up temporary residence. "In that case, I had better return to Tolkien. Things might get messy here."

"Yes, you'd better. Gimli, stay here; we'll need a third for whatever might come through that door. And put down the axe and fetch that 'Sue blaster." When the Dwarf looked close to protesting, she put up a finger threateningly. "We've been given orders not to let them bleed all over the carpets. Awful smell, and the pink won't come out."

With a regretful air, Gimli put down his axe and picked up the blaster.

Arwen then looked to her husband. "She's not after me," Aragorn protested, "I shouldn't have to leave!"

"I suppose not…" Aragorn seized his own blaster up with an eager grin.

"They never affect me," Gimli said proudly. "They're all too flabbergasted by how _uncomical_ I am in reality compared to that wretched movie characterization."

"Right," Aragorn said blandly. "That's exactly it."

"Oooh," Arwen said suddenly. "This is rather … interesting. Dig a little deeper, and look what you find out about _this_ character? I think … yes, I think I _will_ send this on over." She opened an email with a smirk and began to type.

_Dear Eowyn…_ the message began…

* * *

"Legolas?" Suddenly Peter saw what he must do. "Heart of my hearts, there is _another?!"_

_Twenty-four… twenty-three…_

"Only one!" wailed the 'Sue, suddenly stricken. "And… maybe one more after that…"

"If he holds your affections," Peter said with as much sadness as he could muster, though he rather felt like dancing a jig, "then who am I to deny your heart?"

_Nineteen…eighteen…_

"Oh, _Peter!"_ cried the girl.

_Sixteen...fifteen…_

She seemed ready to launch into another musical number, so he forestalled hastily by shouting "COME!" a little more loudly than he intended, following it with a much softer: "Er, that is, will you not sit once more beside me, as the King and Queen we once were, for a little longer?"

_Fourteen…thirteen…_

"Darling!" cried the 'Sue. He could not think of her as Lucy. "Of course! And then…"

_Ten…nine…_

"…and then?" Peter asked as he seated himself on his own throne. He drew the line at so much as kissing the fiend. That much he knew.

_Seven…six…_

"…after that, can we eat? I'm _starving!_" And the girl threw herself down on the throne with a famished sigh.

_Four…three…_

Then the 'Sue noticed the screen before her eyes, with two seconds left to go, and with a cry of dismay she seized Peter by the wrist just before the thing launched.

_Two…one…_

He felt something warm and nasty that smelled rather like burnt sugar envelope him and then the sensation of being surrounded by ruffles and then—at last—he landed in a dark room.

* * *

"They'll be here any minute! Center of the room! Form a triangular formation around them! Block off all the exits! Execute procedure 'lockdown' on the rest of the building—particularly the Superhero Canons. Oh, and make sure Rowling gets the memo, too—keep that Potty kid _inside_." Aragorn turned away and began firing off calls on his radio. The three of them cocked their blasters and positioned themselves around the room.

With a flashing of lights and a tremendous racket, the 'flying shed' materialized. Its makeup and the things written on it were so outlandish to the three of them that they could not help but stare for a full thirty seconds. Then, the door was flung open and a tall brunette was poised coquettishly on the threshold.

"Cassie!" she cooed in a singsong voice. "I'm here! I came back when you called me!"

"Psst!" Arwen hissed to Aragorn. "I thought we were on the lookout for a hobbit. Weren't we on the lookout for a hobbit?"

"Yes, we definitely were waiting for a hobbit," came Aragorn's voice from the other side of the box.

"This isn't a hobbit," Arwen said. "It's a slightly disproportionate version of an Elf."

Just then, two figures materialized behind her, puffing for breath. "Is Peter here?" one of them gasped. Susan Pevensie. "Is he back? He disappeared and the 'Sue's nowhere to be found and the throne's disappeared and we thought—" She gaped at the TARDIS. "What's that—and who's she—and—_Edmund?!"_ She blinked at the figure peering sheepishly out from behind Lys. "So you _did_ go away in a blue box! We thought Peter'd gone a bit mad, frankly."

"Yeah, I tend to have that effect on people," came a half-blithering voice from behind Edmund. "Just a little. Mad. Brilliant, I call it, but most people… mad."

"Anyway!" Lucy huffed. "Where's Peter? Where's Lucy the Glad?"

Three stupefied Tolkien reps and one rather bored 'Sue looked blankly back at this.

"The short girl!" Lucy clarified.

"Ohh!" chorused Arwen, Aragorn, and Gimli. "So _that's_ where the hobbit went."

"Where?!" Lucy all but shrieked.

"We don't know," Arwen answered calmly. "But at least we know she exists, if she's not here."

If Lucy had not been Lucy, she might have cursed then. As it was she twitched her right leg in a silent stamp of the foot and ground her teeth a little.

"In the meantime," continued Arwen. "Who are you and what are you doing here?"

"My name is Lys," the girl began somewhat feebly. This was not how she had anticipated things going at all. "Lys Aranel, and I—"

"Never mind, Lys, I know you now." Arwen's voice took on a quality of steel. "You are the character who dared infiltrate Tolkien canon last month and hopelessly distort many lawful characters. You turned my own into a monster and my beloved into little less. The latter you promptly ran over a cliff in a cheap imitation of Movieverse events."

"Then," the Doctor cut in, striding confidently from behind Edmund to exit the TARDIS and face the 'Sue. "Then you kidnapped myself and my TARDIS and used your 'Suecharm to attempt to enter the Narnia canon. I believe you succeeded in entering where you did because—"

"—the other 'Sue had just done so!" burst Edmund. "She must've left a hole in the fabric of…" There his knowledge petered out and he finished somewhat lamely, "…of something."

"Close enough," sniffed the Doctor. "At any rate, you went there and conspired to kidnap one of the Pevensies—and succeeded. You then attempted to use his person to enter the timeline of _Prince Caspian._ Do you or do you not deny these charges?"

"I wanted to say that part," muttered Arwen. The Doctor seemed not to hear her.

"I don't," huffed the 'Sue. Like a flash she whipped out her sonic and blipped Arwen's gun, which went out in a puff of smoke. "But I'll be leaving now."

"I guess you won't," Aragorn said, stepping from behind the TARDIS and pointing his own blaster at her. She whirled around, and then her face was turned to delight.

"ARRY!" she squealed. "METHOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD!"

"Methought you were too," Aragorn answered calmly, though he visibly squirmed. "Keener disappointment has scarce been felt by mortals."

"Oh! Well! Trouble your heart no longer!" glittered Lys. "I have returned!" She rushed toward him. He seemed caught between retching and swooning, but did neither and simply fled instead. His footsteps echoed down the hall.

"No further, miss, if you please," Gimli said in an attempt at firmness, aiming _his_ blaster at her.

"Like that's happening," the 'Sue said, raising her sonic device to disable the blaster.

Three things happened at once. The 'Sue's sonic device took out Gimli's blaster, the Doctor's sonic device took out the 'Sue's sonic device, and Gimli's axe took out the 'Sue.

Six figures stared dumbfoundedly at the mess of pink sludge—'Sueblood and glitter—soaking into the carpet of the main room of the Lewis division. There was a smell like old chocolates and bad perfume. Then Susan, Lucy, Gimli, Edmund, and the Doctor turned in disbelief to Arwen, who was still clutching the axe with both hands, a wild look slowly dying from her eyes.

Gimli nodded with an air of knowledge that was not entirely an illusion. "I've always said so," he said sagely. "Blasters and computers—tricky, stupid things. An axe is much more reliable." And he picked up his own which had just fallen from Arwen's twitching fingers and strode from the room with a satisfied air, trailing drops of 'Sueblood in his wake.

"Well," Arwen said, attempting to steady herself. "Glad _that's_ over." Her fingers still twitched a little.

The others seemed capable only of staring for a few moments still. Then Lucy cried, "Oh! Peter!" and they all dashed for the door. None of them were quite sure where they were going or why, but in the end they all found themselves hurtling through the door to the Tolkien department. The spectacle that greeted them was an interesting one, to be sure.

Peter was seated on the floor, looking decidedly green. Legolas had his head in the rubbish bin—it was best not to inquire further into his situation. Faramir was unconscious in another corner. And there, in front of her desk, playing Minesweeper with unparalleled nonchalance, sat Eowyn.

"What _happened_ here?!" burst Arwen. "Where are Aragorn and Gimli?"

"Gone for a drink, I expect," Eowyn said carelessly. "You look like you could use one. Is that 'Sueblood on your dress?"

"Eowyn," repeated the mortalized Elf. "What happened?"

"Well," Eowyn spun her chair 'round to face them for effect. "I received your email just a few moments ago about the hobbit—Lucy Took, I think she called herself—who grew up in Tuckborough and randomly goes to Narnia for a fling with Peter before coming back to Middle Earth for a fling with Legolas that will hopefully be more than a fling as she's quite confident she can persuade the Valar to grant her immortality."

"Of all the nerve!" exclaimed the Doctor. Everybody glared at him. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"As I was saying," Eowyn began.

"What is it with people growing up in Middle Earth and taking random detours to Narnia?" wondered Susan aloud. Everybody glared at _her_. "Sorry," _she_ mumbled.

"Well, Arwen here happened to find a little note in which the Author says that the girl would be happy to have, and I quote, "farmir or legolas, lol; but prolly leggy." Well, naturally, I couldn't just let that go. I was gathering my things to go to Lewis and confront her myself when puff! In she waltzes with a death grip on Mr. Pevensie here, who was (poor lad) quite ready to be sick. Legolas beat him to the bin, though, and he's been most kind in refraining from following through with that feeling. I warned him against spoiling our carpet, you know."

"It's nice to know some of us can keep up the carpets," Susan muttered. Arwen shuffled a little guiltily at that.

"Why is Legolas sick?" wondered Lucy, peering curiously over the Doctor's shoulder.

"The 'Sue professed her undying love to him—er, undying as soon as she's immortalized, of course. That would make anybody sick, don't you think?" replied Eowyn calmly. "But he's not sick. He merely dove for cover and landed in the bin. Proved quite effective, too; she didn't quite get him."

"Is she gone?" Legolas's voice echoed muffledly from within the depths of said bin. "Is it safe?

"Quite safe, I imagine," Eowyn grinned. She turned to the others with the air of one who's getting to the best part of a tale. "I let her go, you see."

Everybody gaped at her. "You _let her go?"_ was the general cry of outrage.

"But of course," smirked she. "I knew she wouldn't get far. Just down the hallway there's the Vampire Canon division, and for a joke they've been keeping Stephanie Meyer's name on the door. But she was lucky—she met Gimli before she got that far."

"Twice axed, forever silenced," muttered the Doctor. "But she was spared the cold bite of reality." More than a few people groaned.

"There's still one thing you've left unexplained," Arwen puzzled. "Why is Faramir unconscious?"

"Oh, he got up to make a phone call and tripped over a chair a moment or two before the 'Sue arrived. He missed the whole thing." Eowyn paused, contemplating this. "Which was for the best in the end, but that reminds me: when Aragorn gets back, I'm going to have a word with him about turning some of these lights on."

* * *

_This story is dedicated to Lys Aranel and Lucy Took of The Lion's Call fame, who crafted (and really donated themselves, though not really themselves, you understand, for) the cunning 'Sues 'round whose existence and actions this fic revolves. I apologize for any ways I may have unintentionally deviated from their original wishes and do so solemnly promise to edit this upon my return. -JotM_


End file.
